Captive Audience
by magentasouth
Summary: <html><head></head>Hermione is captured by Death Eaters before the trio can leave on the Horcrux hunt</html>
1. Chapter 1

He never looked at her. That was the worst thing.

It shouldn't be the worst thing but there it was.

Hermione leaned idly against the silver filigreed bars of her cage and watched disinterestedly while some minor death eater screamed and twitched on the stone floor of the great hall as Voldemort punished him.  
>When she had first seen this kind of display, she had been horrified and felt almost overwhelming sympathy for the victim, but it happened too frequently to still affect her strongly.<p>

She had been daydreaming and hadn't really been listening as the quivering boy had confessed his fault. Something about dropping something, hed broken something obviously.  
>It likely wouldn't have mattered if he hadn't. He was the third person who had been cursed by Voldemort this morning.<br>He was in a fairly intolerant mood today it seemed.

This too was not a rare occurrence.

Her generously sized cage was set off to the side of the raised dais on which Voldemort lounged in his massive, ornately carved, black stone and silver-inlaid throne, effortlessly holding the curse on the whimpering boy, with a mien of faint irritated satisfaction.

The cage was raised on silver lions feet off the floor a small way. A kind of symbolic pedestal emphasizing that she was on display: a trophy.  
>She was... she supposed... a visual aid, perhaps. Nothing more. A symbol.<p>

Daily, elves charmed her body clean and clothed her in luxurious gowns; red velvet, gold satin, occasionally pale pink gauzy sheaths. Clothing to emphasise that she was a Gryffindor princess, that she was female, that she was soft and vulnerable, that she was so very different to the figures in black that came and went in this room - the only room she had seen in the months since her capture.

She wasn't bothered by the often somewhat revealing clothing.  
>Today, for example, she was wearing a rather low cut, strapless, empire-waist dress in blood red, raw-silk, that reached to her mid thighs.<br>At least she was not naked or dressed in rags.  
>At least it was, for whatever irrational reason Voldemort had, her house affiliation and not her blood status that seemed to be the focus.<p>

Sometimes she fantasized about being able to take a shower...or washing her hair with real shampoo. The elves cleaned it, charmed it to a glossy porcelain doll finish, but it smelled of nothing. It felt soft and silky, but she couldn't shake the feeling of not having washed her hair in months.  
>She wondered if she would be in the cage for the rest of her life.<p>

She knew Harry was still out there. Voldemort couldn't find him or Ron. They had vanished from the wizarding world apparently. There had been no reports of sightings for weeks and weeks.

Initially she had listened to all Voldemort's briefings with baited breath, strained her ears to hear anything that might be useful, imagining she might be rescued somehow and could relay her information to the order.

After months of that, of memorizing every detail she could, she began to slowly suspect that she wouldnt be rescued after all.  
>She still paid attention to the reports delivered to Voldemort before her, to reassure herself that Harry and Ron and the order members she knew about were still out there, still eluding capture, surviving attack after attack since the fall of the Ministry of Magic.<br>Those briefings were the minority, however. Most interactions she was witness to were more mundane and often quite horrible. Raids, various manipulations of individuals, finances, information about things she lacked the context to understand.

Professor Snape was here frequently. The first time he had come in and had recognised her in the cage, he had appeared momentarily startled, before he trained his face into the same faintly disapproving sneer he had habitually worn in class and delivered a briefing to Voldemort on some potion he was working on.  
>Thereafter he seemed to pretend she wasn't even there. He did not look over at her and, if he happened to be facing in her direction for whatever reason, his eyes stared past her unseeingly.<br>It was almost as bad as Voldemort's cold disinterest.

She felt she was a painting on the wall sometimes. Nobody ever spoke to her.  
>Most of the death eaters who came in, with the exception of professor Snape and Lucius Malfoy, leered at her in a vaguely threatening way when they did happen to look at her.<br>Bellatrix Lestrange had once stepped right up to the bars of her cage and crouched down, excitement glittering rabidly in her eyes.

Voldemort had chastised her mildly in a bored voice, "leave it alone Bella and return to your place."  
>IT.<br>Bellatrix had scowled through the gaps at Hermione and then brightened, wiggling her little finger at her as if she was a kitten in a box and returning to the lower level of the Great Hall.

She never left the cage. It had become the entire world. A couple of metres cubed. She had learned to sleep on the hard metal floor, no pillows or blankets, even when it was very cold.

Food appeared periodically - simple fare, usually stew or rice, but sometimes there was meat. Once or twice she had been given fruit.  
>The rather primitive food appeared in a bone china service with golden spoon. There was never any need for a knife. There would be a pitcher of water and a ridiculously ornate golden goblet that would have been at home among the crown jewels. She had quickly learned to eat and drink as soon as the offerings materialized, irrespective what else might be going on in the room, because they would vanish in a short time, a matter of minutes to perhaps an hour at best and if she had not had her fill by then, she would have to wait for the next opportunity.<p>

These opportunities were not regular or predictable. Once she had had to wait for two days and the thirst had been terrible.

She sometimes considered whether she might simply stop eating and drinking. One died of dehydration in a matter of days.  
>But she found she did not want to die.<br>Besides... if she didnt eat, possibly the elves might just make the food appear directly in her stomach. She didnt think it that unlikely a prospect. She hadnt been to the bathroom in months now. Sometimes she felt the need... and then she didn't. Presumably the waste went somewhere. She supposed it was just easier that way. Then he could keep her in her little prison on display perpetually, without risking her ruining her porcelain doll appearance.

Since arriving, aside from the obvious distressing factor that she was Voldemorts prisoner, nothing had actually happened to her.  
>No one had tortured her, in fact no one had so much as threatened her. Voldemort hadnt even spoken to her.<br>Not once!  
>She had gone from skimming through a book in Flourish and Blott's to waking on the floor of the cage with him looking down at her through the delicate curls and twills of the bars.<br>He hadn't said anything, and she hadn't had the courage to shout insults or challenges of a Gryffindor flavour up at him. He simply looked at her with interest, as if she were an unusual species of beetle that he was trying to catalogue under a microscope.

She had looked back for a while, apprehensively.  
>His eyes were unnatural and unnerving. They glittered red and were bisected by black-slitted pupils like a snake.<br>The...hairless flatness... of his face... those slitted nostrils... he was something so alien that it actually offended the mind, it hurt to look upon him. She lowered her eyes and shivered.  
>When she next chanced a glance up, some minutes later, she was relieved to see he had gone.<p>

At first, she had expected he would interrogate her. She had heard stories of the bodies the death eaters left to be found and she had just automatically assumed that she would soon be interrogated, tortured, perhaps executed - and was terrified every time he entered the room; death eaters did not enter the room when he was not in it, it seemed.  
>Over time it became more and more apparent that he was not in fact going to interrogate her at all.<br>It was almost insulting: as if she couldnt possibly know anything that would be of any interest to him.

She watched him almost constantly when he was in here.

She wasn't afraid to look at him anymore - over time she had gotten used to his strange appearance and it wasn't as if he ever noticed her looking at him anyway. He never even glanced in her direction.

It was understandable to watch him, she told herself, as there was hardly anything else for her to look at.  
>When he wasn't in here, the room was shadowy, empty, silent. She had nothing to do with herself in the cage.<br>She had nothing to do with her _mind. _  
>No books, no tasks, nothing to do but lie around and daydream, reminisce on the time at Hogwarts, the time with her friends, with <em>Harry<em>, or think about the things that she had read about in the past, calculate arithmancy problems in her head...or think about _him._

He was like a puzzle, of sorts.  
>What did he want from her? Was this all he required? That she sit here like some kind of doll on a shelf. What would happen over time? She was seventeen! Would she still be sitting around in a cage in pretty dresses when she was thirty?<p>

She shivered... that was a ridiculous thought. For one, Harry would kill him long before then. Harry would win, she was sure. It was a matter of time. He would come and kill Voldemort and she would be released and then...

Her mind faltered at that point each time she fantasized about it. Even in her fantasy her logic would step in and say and then Ginny would run to him and he would embrace her joyfully and kiss her and everyone would celebrate.

Unfortunately, there was no way to fool herself into the happy daydream that Harry would release her from the cage after Voldemort had fallen and would suddenly look deep into her eyes and tell her that he loved her. That he had realised after she had been taken that it had been _her_ he had wanted all along, not Ginny.  
>There was never any way to elude her own derisive internal snort of disbelief when she imagined wistfully how Harry would pull her close and slowly and tenderly kiss her.<br>She wished it were possible... But Harry never even saw her. She was firmly relegated to the friend category for him, perhaps he even thought of her as a sister.

It was tragic.

For a while she had thought...perhaps she could get him to notice her if she changed her appearance... if she tried to look more like a girl, or at least more like Lavender and Parvati.  
>He had noticed, in a mild kind of way and had even complimented her once or twice politely, jokingly, as a friend...as a brother might, but that was all.<p>

Ron, on the other hand, had suddenly become shy and fumbling around her, had started doing things like pouring her pumpkin juice and sitting and staring at her moon eyed while she studied.  
>It was terrible.<p>

She didn't know what to say to put him off without hurting his feelings, so she just pretended not to notice.  
>She could never care for Ron that way; he really was just a friend. She liked him <em>as<em> a friend. He was just... not her type somehow. He was brash and loud and frequently uncouth. He _was _loyal and funny, she added quickly, but he was just...

it seemed cruel to say that he was just...a little silly...a little foolish. Not that bright. He wasnt stupid - his skill in chess and even in quiddich proved that but he was just... not that quick on the uptake in his regular dealings with others it seemed.  
>Harry, on the other hand, was very sharp when it came to others.<br>True, he could be a bit biased by his opinions of people and misunderstand things, but he was very observant, quiet, thoughtful, considerate, courageous, dashing, gorgeous... she trailed off..

She liked the way he looked...  
>She really was that shallow.<p>

She couldnt help judging herself critically for it.  
>His black hair and those bright green eyes... He was beautiful. She liked the way he smelled too, especially when he came back from quiddich. It... it made her feel strange. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach when he would flop down next to her on the couch in the common room in his uniform and would lean on her, his head on her shoulder and smell so...good.. She would fight the urge to turn to him and confess her undying lust for him.<br>He was so damn noble and true, there was no way he would ever risk ruining their friendship for a little fooling around.

Even if he had been at all interested in her, and he gave her no reason to even hope that he might be, there was Ginny standing there looking at him adoringly... and there was Ron standing there looking at _her_ adoringly.  
>Always.<p>

She didnt want to think it, but a part of her cursed the entire bloody Weasley family. They were a pain in the neck.  
>But it was ok. That was life. You couldnt always have the one you wanted. She would feel happy for Harry when he was free from this whole war and could marry Ginny and have a family.<br>She _would_. It was what he most wanted.

She would wish him well and would apply herself to her further studies, after she had re-sat the NEWTS, and at some point she would meet someone else who could give her that butterflies feeling that Harry gave her.  
>She sighed. She would <em>force<em> herself to be happy for Harry... and if she distanced herself a bit from the joyous couple simply because she couldnt stand to look at him so deliriously happy in his life with Ginny, that was perfectly understandable and nothing to feel bad about.

She heard the door in the stone wall at the end of the room close. The young death eater had departed while her attention was elsewhere yet again.

Voldemort sprawled regally in his throne, his expression one of distraction, pensive thought and now only faint irritation.

She mused on her impression of him, as she not infrequently did when he was present for her to observe.  
>Voldemort had a manner about him that was almost like Professor Snape...although he didnt resemble him in any respect whatsoever.<p>

It was hard to explain.

There was a dignity to his person. He _commanded _respect. Automatically. One could not but react to his presence with trepidation and awe.  
>But while professor Snape was stiff, polished, harsh, like stone - Voldemort <em>flowed.<br>_He was elegant and sinuform like dark liquid. He moved as if not restricted by the standard laws of physics. It was quite fascinating to watch.

His voice too, when he spoke to his death eaters, was interesting, layered. It was quite high and airy, like a woodwind instrument, with unusual harmonics suggesting that it, at least in part, did not reach the senses by means of the rarification and compression of the intervening air currents. It was as if it resonated in the mind.  
>She found, over time, that she quite liked the sensation.<p>

Of course that was probably due, in large measure, to the illusion that had condensed over the last month that she was not really _there_.

She was some kind of observer outside the events around her. As such nothing bad could ever happen to her. It was like a continual ongoing theatre piece she was watching these days.  
>And among the many themes in this piece, one was the fascination with Voldemort's voice.<br>Once in a while, like this morning (afternoon? Evening?) She had a vague self destructive hankering to hear him address _her_ in that voice. Specifically: for him to turn his attention on her - to _notice her._

Of course that was completely stupid, she told herself. As things were, she could count her lucky stars that Voldemort did _not_ appear to be interested in her in any way at all.  
>It meant that she could continue her life unharmed and while away the days without being asked to betray her friends, free from pain or... or... molestation.<p>

An unexpected click from very close nearby startled her.

She watched, not quite comprehending, as a section of the side of her cage swung open silently.  
>There was an unfathomable hole in her world!<br>She had grown used to viewing everything through the filigree filter, to the extent that she almost didnt even see it anymore. Now there was this...area... of space that seemed too _full_... too bright. As if it werent really real.

Voldemort spoke now. "Come here" he said softly, dangerously.

In her experience, people were usually cursed soon after he used this voice and she scanned the room, looking for whoever had come in that he was addressing.  
>The room was empty.<br>She looked back at the gap in her world. Could he be talking to _her?_

"Do not make me tell you again" he warned sharply.

She jerked into life, pulling herself up the wall to stand and walking to the door of the cage, stepping down onto the stone of the dais. She paused, glancing around her uneasily. She felt...vulnerable... out here; exposed and raw. She wanted to go back inside the cage, with its illusion of protection from Voldemorts theatre of cruelty and obedience. If she was out here anything could happen to her.  
>She forced herself to move, walking gingerly to the side of Voldemorts throne and looking down at him.<p>

It felt... wrong... to look at him from this angle. He was always above her as she sat on the floor of the cage.

He still hadnt looked at her, although she had the disturbing sense that his attention was fixed upon her.

She swallowed anxiously. The terror she hadnt felt in weeks, perhaps months, was rapidly building in her.

She hesitated and then lowered herself to her knees.

After a few seconds he turned to her. There was a small degree of approval in his red eyes as they roved over her.  
>She felt a tiny amount better from this position. On her knees looking up at him, he looked more familiar, more like he did from inside the cage.<p>

His right hand lifted from the arm of his throne and reached toward her slowly.  
>She forced herself with some difficulty not to flinch back away from it.<br>His pale features twisted faintly and the slitted eyes narrowed.

"You do not want me to touch you" he observed quietly.

His hand reached her and his fingers combed lightly through her long, silky, perfectly-coiffed ringlets. He wound a curl around his finger, tugging it out and letting it spring back.

She was confused. What could she possibly respond to that? He was Lord Voldemort! Of course she didnt want him to touch her. It went without saying. It was a conclusion automatically derivable from the fact that she was Hermione Granger, muggleborn, best friend of Harry Potter, and he was Lord Voldemort, the evil despot who was trying to kill him and rid the wizarding world of muggleborns. It was simply _assumed_. A given.

"Give me your hand" he demanded mildly.

She hesitated and then offered her right hand up to him.  
>He took it immediately in his own, holding it as if he meant to kiss the back of her hand, and she was surprised to find his skin warm, soft, smooth-but not unnaturally so.<br>His appearance was such that she had somehow expected him to feel like ice... like cold marble; hard and silky.

"You did not think me a man?" he murmured at her, amused.

She tried not to blush and failed, looking down and away from his ruby gaze.

"Are you afraid to speak to me, little Gryffindor?" he challenged.

She looked back up at his eyes, which were cool, speculative, glinting slightly. "..Yes" she whispered honestly.  
>His thin lips stretched wider, smirking at her.<p>

"That is perhaps wise" he responded.  
>His thumb stroked gently across her knuckles suddenly and she jerked as if slapped.<p>

The feeling... it was a very... affectionate... gesture. It was- it was... something she would have called flirtatious if anyone else had done it.  
>She looked at him fearfully. Oh god... what if he wanted...<br>His smile widened further and took on the appearance of something predatory.

"Would you like a bath, Hermione?" He asked in a voice of polite inquiry that was entirely at odds with his expression.

Immediately two factions launched into battle within her. There was the voice of reason, which screamed at her in blind panic to refuse as politely as she possibly could and hoped to be able to go back to the cage soon, where it felt a lot safer. Then there was the more impulsive voice of desire; desire to bathe, yes, but also desire for something other than the silvery patterned walls and the empty great hall and her thoughts and the silence.  
>This - Voldemort talking to her, <em>touching her<em> even, as frightening as that was - this was something _new_.  
>It was something other than the endless days of tedium.<br>_HE_ was paying _attention_ to her. He hadnt hurt her so far. This was _better_ than the cage.

Her under-stimulated senses cried out for more. It was glorious to be acknowledged as someone real, someone tangible again. She couldnt just ignore the chance to have more... If she refused him and he allowed her to go back to the cage, he might never talk to her again.  
>She would sit and slowly go mad by inches, day by day, until she either died of emptiness or Harry turned up to free her - if he ever did, and even then, she would be alone... or she would be in Ron's excited triumphant arms.<p>

She realised, surprised, that she was more interested in the sudden attention Lord Voldemort was currently bestowing upon her than she was in a caged future and an uncertain prospect of Ron Weasley's arms eventually.

She decided impulsively.  
>"Yes please" she replied, hopeful that he wasnt merely taunting her.<p>

His expression became still more shark-like and his eyes glittered at her. He stood, gracefully, and pulled her to her feet by her hand, drawing her closer.  
>The different factions in her warred again as she hung on the cusp of panicking and stepping back, or acquiescing and stepping against his black cloaked body.<br>She tried not to look afraid as she felt his hand guide her against him.

He felt warm and solid. It was as unexpected as his hand had been.

She felt his arms curl around her, his hands splayed on her lower back as he pulled her more snugly against him and then there was the squeeze of side along apparition.


	2. Chapter 2

She wavered dizzily and caught her breath, feeling queasy.

He released her somewhat and she looked around.  
>She stood in a bathroom. It was very dark. It was well lit by a large number of thick white candles, tossing soft, flickering light, but it was still dark because almost every surface in the room seemed to be formed of black marble.<p>

A large bathtub grew out of the floor almost organically. It was one of the few areas that stood out, because the inside surface of the wide deep concave shell was not solid black as the rest of the room but white-veined black marble. There were neither taps nor spigot visible anywhere.

She turned to look at Lord Voldemort uneasily, the reality of her current situation slowly catching up on her.  
>He looked entirely fitting in this sombre elegant bathroom. He matched the colour scheme somehow - it made his snow-white skin stand out even more dramatically and his red eyes glowed, the only point of colour in a monochrome world.<p>

She observed thoughtfully that his bone structure was quite delicate when you looked at him closely.

He looked...strange...in the sense of being unusual... but he was quite interesting to look at. Statuesque. Like a Sumerian Idol or an Egyptian god.

Hairless brows quirked momentarily as he smirked at her and she realised she had been thinking those things while gazing into his eyes.

"Nehebkau, an Egyptian god of magic was said to have the face of a snake and the body of a man" he offered, with a mildly amused tone.

She nodded slightly, knowing this already.  
>"He had the power to join souls with bodies" she murmured, unable to prevent herself from displaying her knowledge.<p>

Voldemort acknowledged the statement with a thoughtful expression before turning to the bath and taking out his wand. He cast silently, so she had no idea what the charm had been, but the bath now began to fill rapidly from the bottom upward.  
>There were no thick bubbles, she was glad. She had always found bubble baths rather irritating - the texture of the bubbles on her skin was unpleasant and mounds of bubbles meant she would have to levitate the book she would invariably be reading further away from her face.<p>

She watched the steam rising from the dark clear water filling the tub, wavering the white veins in the marble and jumped, startled, when Lord Voldemort spoke, suddenly close to her ear.  
>"I have felt your eyes upon me, Hermione. Always you watch me."<p>

She turned quickly to look at him, a little frightened again. His slitted eyes flickered at her slightly, examining every nuance of her expression.

"I..." she began uncertainly. What could she say? Yes, you are the most interesting thing in the reduced world I inhabit? That might not go down well.

"Your bath is ready" he said, before she could fumble some response.

She turned and looked, as much to confirm the fact as to have a reason to look away from his piercing gaze.  
>He was extremely unsettling... She had always had the disturbing feeling that professor Snape's eyes could see into her when she looked at him.<br>Lord Voldemort's eyes were exponentially worse, in that she had the disconcerting feeling that he could see into her even if she _didn't_ look at him. When she looked into his eyes, she felt like her every thought and feeling was on display in letters ten metres high.

She stared at the steaming bath, conflicted... she wanted to get in - oh she wanted so badly to get in now... she could almost feel the water against her skin - But Lord Voldemort didnt appear to be leaving. Did he expect her to undress in front of him?

She had never had to undress in front of him before. The elves changed her and cleaned her, never undressing her for the merest second. She hadnt been unclothed in months.  
>The only male person who had <em>ever<em> seen her fully unclothed was her father and she had been a small child back then. She didn't even wear a bikini in public. She couldn't do this!

She looked at the water longingly, as if it were a mere realistic painting of a bath.

"You do not want a bath after all, Hermione?" Voldemort asked her knowingly.

She looked at him desperately, pitifully. "Will you... um... won't you... please... that is..." she petered out. There was just no way to politely eject Lord Voldemort from any room. It was not possible. Vain attempts would end in horrible pain, she just knew.

She heard him laugh softly in genuine amusement. "You are so innocent, my dear. It is delightful."

All her hair stood on end then as she felt Lord Voldemort's hand on the zip of her silky dress, lowering it slowly.  
>She started to shake. What could she do? There was nothing she could possibly do! Even if she had a wand, there would still be nothing she could do. Oh god! Voldemort was undressing her! There was nowhere to run. She couldnt fight him. She was, and had been for months, entirely at his mercy.<p>

She whimpered softly and wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to cry.

"Shhhhh" the high pitched voice soothed. "I have not hurt you, have I?"

She kept her eyes fixed on the bath and tried to remain still. He hadn't hurt her, but she had watched him hurt others. So very many others. He did not restrict himself to the unforgiveables - she had seen him cast entrail-expelling curses, flaying curses and boiling curses, he once froze a mans hand and then commanded him to snap off his own fingers. He made a young boy vomit sewing needles because he had not liked his tone of voice.  
>The man in the room with her was a psychopath of almost limitless power and creativity. An interesting psychopath, if one were some distance away, inside what felt like a shark cage, able to watch with impunity, but still a psychopath.<br>And now he was undressing her and she wasn't in the shark cage anymore. What he could do to her was not limited by the darkness of her imagination. He could do a lot worse to her than she was actually currently capable of imagining.

The zip had reached its ultimate destination and she squeaked as she felt warm hands peel her dress away from her back. She wore no bra with this strapless dress. It was not necessary. Her small breasts were firm enough to stand without support.

She felt Lord Voldemort's hands smooth down her back slowly, drawing down the red silk dress.  
>More than reluctantly, she released it from where she had been clinging to it cramped beneath her folded arms.<br>His hands moved lower, sliding over her hips and then the dress fell to pool around her bare feet.

"...lovely" his voice observed, as his hands glided still over her hips, playing at the waistband of her red silk panties.

She shook like a leaf and wrapped her arms around herself more tightly.

Instead of removing her underwear, she felt his hands slide up her sides till they reached her folded arms. His fingertips traced down her arms and she suddenly felt him step close behind her, the soft warmth of his robe touching her back.  
>His hands reached her wrists and gripped lightly, pulling her arms slowly away from their folded position over her breasts and bringing them down to her sides.<p>

She ducked her head, flinching, as he gently forced her to bare herself. "..Please..." she begged weakly. She wanted to say don't, but one did not tell Lord Voldemort to do or not do things. She had never...ever... heard anyone tell him no.

"Hush, Hermione" he said almost gently. "Calm yourself"

His fingertips were gliding feather light back up the outside of her arms and now she thought she could feel his breath against her hair. He was _right behind her..._ The fingertips that had now reached her shoulders started to dance down the front of her body slowly...so slowly... toward her breasts.

She shook violently and her hands clenched and unclenched in desperation, too afraid to move to push him away.

His fingertips glided now to the side and around the curve of her breasts, beneath them, circling her peaks.  
>She felt her nipples harden in response uncontrollably and she burned bright red in shame.<br>She wasnt aroused by Lord Voldemort. She could never never find this evil man attractive.

She couldnt stop herself from shivering as his open palms brushed over her hardened peaks and she thought she heard his breath catch... One of his hands cupped her breast, kneading it slowly, tenderly, now and then pulling back to tease her nipple, while the other slipped up and brushed aside her hair from her neck.

She felt Voldemort move even closer and then she really _couldn't_ stop herself from flinching when she felt his face move against her skin and his lips press gently to her neck, kissing her. She whimpered helplessly, feeling sick with fear. He ignored her terrified response completely and continued kissing her throat. His tongue slid over her delicate skin and then he sucked at a particularly sensitive spot and she shuddered in unwilling pleasure.

She felt him smile against her skin and the hand that had been cupping and teasing her breast slid down her body in tandem with the other, his thumbs slipping beneath the waistband of her panties and sliding them slowly slowly down till they dropped unhindered down her legs to land with her dress.  
>He had kissed up her throat now and his mouth was over her ear. His breath made her knees feel slightly weak. When he darted his hot pointed tongue out and licked at the shell of her ear she gasped and suddenly realised how fast she was breathing; almost panting.<p>

"Your bath is getting cold" he murmured into her ear and it felt... it felt delicious. Forbidden and dark and shameful and intensely pleasurable.

The sudden cold and bereft feeling she experienced, when he then pulled away without warning and stepped back, shocked her.  
>She couldn't possibly have wanted him to keep touching her. It was unthinkable.<p>

She snuck a peek back over her shoulder at him, looking quickly back at the bath.  
>He was standing watching her, a look of dark satisfaction on his face.<br>That could not bode well for her. The only time he ever looked pleased like that was when he had just finished cursing someone.

She stepped forward and raised her leg, slipping it into the hot bath.

Oh... it was still wonderfully warm. Idyllic... heavenly... it was amazing beyond words. She slipped her other leg in and let herself slide down into the dark depths.  
>This was the best bath she had ever had... without a doubt. The warmth warmer, the water wetter, her body <em>sang! <em>

She let herself sink down under the water completely, shaking her head and feeling the charms the elves laid on her hair to bind it into ringlets dissolve. She rose to the surface and brushed her hands back over her head, slicking her hair back.

The faint innocuous sound of fabric hitting the floor was startling in its unobtrusiveness.

She turned her head to see that Voldemort had removed his robes.  
>He stood naked before her, his marble white body in unbelievably sharp relief against the uniformly black environment.<br>His eyes flashed as he observed the way her gaze slid across his naked form.

She couldnt help herself... she literally could do nothing to prevent the way her eyes had developed a will of their own when she had turned and they had met his shining chest, stunned at the unexpected definition. Statuesque was exactly the word for him. He had the body of a swimmer, muscles standing crisp and tight, the rest of his frame lean and streamlined.

Her gaze had wandered down his abdomen, stealing lower still to where... to where... she gulped.

Completely without pubic hair he was nevertheless very generously endowed, as far as she could tell; although her knowledge was rather theoretical. His..organ.. stood at half mast and it seemed it hardened further while she watched. Perhaps it was _because_ she watched.

She blinked, shocked, and with some difficulty forced her eyes away; glancing at his face for a millisecond and then away again. He wore a small satisfied smile again, so thin and cruel it was like a little knife blade.

She sank lower in the water, seeking to hide; heard him padding forward but did not look, did not want to provoke him any further.

A pale athletic leg appeared in her view and lowered itself into the translucent water, standing out sharply against the black bathtub. Another soon followed and then Lord Voldemort was lowering himself gracefully into the other end of the large bathtub, till he reclined comfortably curled against the curved black and white stone shell.  
>He closed his eyes and sighed.<p>

She _stared_!

The surreality of the moment was overwhelming.  
>Having a nice relaxing bath with the Dark Lord - nothing unusual at all.<p>

She could feel his legs at either side of her own lightly. The tub was very wide and there was no feeling of crampedness. Her own legs reached to just above his knees.

It was, she hesitantly acknowledged to herself, not _entirely _unpleasant to lie here.  
>At this particular second, at least, she didn't feel overtly threatened. Perhaps it was because his eyes were closed and he seemed more relaxed than he had ever appeared before.<p>

At that moment his eyes opened. Shiny red jewels scrutinized her silently.

After a minute or so, he let them slip closed again. She watched as he let himself sink underwater completely.  
>His entire body was visible under the glassy water as he lay peacefully submerged.<p>

The thought crept in at the corner of her mind that she could try to drown him. She didn't know where it came from but it tickled at her faintly.  
>All she would need to do would be to brace her arms over the edges of the tub and kneel on his chest and then fight like bloody hell to keep him down there.<br>She considered the idea briefly and then, as if casting a small fish back into the ocean, let it slip away again.  
>Whether she could or could not successfully drown him was a moot point. She found, unaccountably, that she did not <em>want<em> to successfully drown him.

She sighed. How long could the man hold his breath?

Aimlessly, she wondered if he actually did swim a lot. He must have lay there like that several minutes at least now.  
>She was just starting to worry faintly when Voldemort raised himself up again, till his head was above the water to just below his nose.<br>He shone wetly.  
>His garnet eyes penetrated her and he wore a very thoughtful expression again.<p>

After a time he rose higher out of the water and spoke.  
>"Do you know, Hermione, there is not one single witch or wizard, not one of my death eaters, no ally one hundred times sworn and proven, who I would trust in my presence while as vulnerable as I have just made myself before you."<p>

Her eyes widened slightly. Did he just imply that he trusted her? Or was it that he viewed her as powerless and did not need to worry for that reason?

Lord Voldemort extended a hand underwater. "Will you come to me? Will you show me a small fraction of that trust?"

She looked back and forth between his entreating hand and his glinting eyes.  
>It was a step too far.<p>

He watched her with seemingly infinite patience.  
>Her inconveniently reasonable mind was automatically disputing his statement. Her trust would not be a small fraction of his. It would be exponentially greater.<br>For one, he was not only physically stronger than her, he also probably mastered wandless magic, while her own wandless magic was extremely weak, not even enough for an alohamora.  
>She was not foolish enough to believe Voldemort would ever put himself truly at risk.<br>She _did_ know however, from Ginnys experiences with the diary, that he was extraordinarily good at manipulating people into doing what he wanted; although he was so powerful these days that he usually didnt seem to bother with the velvet glove methods.

He seemed to recognise the direction of her thoughts because a half second later he had launched himself smoothly through the deep water and was pressed against her, his thighs straddling her own and his hands pressing her wrists to the bottom of the bath.

His eyes were darker, half hooded as he looked down at her.

"I could kill you, Hermione. I could drown you like a kitten. I could show you a pretty green light. You are correct - I dont require a wand for that.  
>..You exist because I have chosen to preserve your life. You continue to breathe at my pleasure.<br>If I thought I might derive more amusement from your death than your life... I could transfigure your lungs into flesh eating spiders and watch them make their way through your body...I could boil your blood in your veins... I could imperio you into auto-cannibalistic frenzy. I could..."

He paused, looking down animatedly at her terrified face, her chin and bottom lip underwater, staring up at him in panic but too afraid to even try to struggle.  
>His heavy cock rested on the seam of her tightly closed thighs and seemed to brush against her skin very slightly, like a living creature, in the residual current of his movement.<p>

Then he started dragging her slowly deeper in the water.

Her panic escalated a hundred fold. He was going to drown her! For the hell of it!

The water was just below her nose.  
>She snatched a quick breath and then the water was over her nose, at her eyes.<br>She blinked up at him, pleading.  
>His face was implacable, unreadable, concentrated.<p>

The world blurred and she blinked rapidly as he dragged her to the bottom of the stone tub, his weight upon her.

He glowed white against a black world. She couldnt make out the surface of the water... the contrast was too low. All she could see was his white form kneeling over her looking down, slightly blurred, glowing against sheer darkness.

She held her breath. She wouldnt be able to hold it for long.

He was looking down at her with a cold kind of interest, just like he had when she had first woken up in the cage.

Seconds ticked past slowly and he didnt seem to do anything else...just hold her in place and watch her lie there, holding her breath.  
>It was...warm and pleasantly muted underwater. She could see how one might enjoy just lying here, completely covered in the warm blanket of the water... if it werent for that pesky breathing thing she needed to do.<p>

Her lungs gave a spasm of protest. Soon she would not be able to hold on any longer. It was inevitable.  
>She wondered whether it was a better death than an Avada. Drowning was supposed to be very peaceful after one stopped panicking and the lungs were full of water.<br>At least that was what people rescued from near drowning reported. It was probably even nicer with warm water.  
>Maybe she should take a nice deep breath and just escape this place.<p>

_She didnt want to die though_.  
>Always it kept coming back to that irritating little point of hope. She didnt want to live in a cage but she preferred living in a cage to dying - it was why she had never simply stood up and started trying her hardest to poke the tiger.<p>

She needed to breathe now. Her lungs were burning.

She let some of the air escape her lips. The bubbles burbled to the surface prettily and some of the pressure was relieved... but it was a short reprieve, she knew. The feeling of lungs full of carbon dioxide would not be as bad as the feeling of compressed lungs when she had breathed out all the bubbles she could and needed to breathe _in_ again.

She looked back up at the blurry glow of the red eyes.  
>Lord Voldemort in the bath with her.<br>_Naked_.  
>Lord Voldemort drowning her in the bath.<br>_Nakednakednaked_.  
>Harry would not believe this even if someone told him.<p>

She needed to breathe in now. There were no more bubbles to breathe out.

She blinked, trying to focus through the warm water. Voldemort had slipped below the surface. His face now hovered a few inches above her own. Did he want to see the expression on her face more closely when she died?  
>She wondered incongruently what the world looked like to him. Did he see it the same way she did through those strange slitted pupils? Did he see like cats saw? Or snakes?<p>

Her lungs were on fire and now... she really was going to have to take a breath. Her body started to struggle quite against her will. It seemed that _it_ wanted to reach the surface a lot more than her mind and her fear would allow. She tugged at hands that were immoveable as stone, clenching her eyes and straining against the overwhelming need to breathe in.

Then she felt lips against hers. Lord Voldemort was _kissing _her.  
>Her mind screamed and the shock of it made her gasp, and then she could <em>breathe!<em> He deepened the kiss as soon as her lips parted, breathing into her, taking the air back from her as she panted it out again almost immediately. They shared breath back and forth while his tongue stroked and teased her own.  
>She found herself responding. The relief and the pleasure together were intoxicating.<p>

She didnt notice movement until she felt the cooler air slicking her hair against her head and the sides of her face.  
>He had turned them underwater somehow and now she was lying on his chest, their heads and part of her back were out of the water.<br>She inhaled cold air through her nose, appreciating it as she had never done before.  
>Why was she still kissing him? She should stop now.<p>

As she tried to pull back, she felt a hand on the back of her head, holding her in place.

His lips were smooth, hot, firm and the kiss that went on and on was not brutal; it was not a devouring... it was anything but what she might reasonably expect. It was passionate but it was a soft lingering teasing kind of passion.  
>As soon as she gave herself over to it, thrust her tongue in counterpoint into <em>his<em> mouth, pushed harder against him, he removed his hand and withdrew.

She leaned in, trying to capture his lips again, wanting more, and he smirked, holding her back, his hand on her collarbone - the gesture reminding her that a few inches higher and he could easily be gripping her throat in that pale hand.

She became immediately quiescent.

His eyes glinted approval as his hands slid down her back, over her ass, pulling her closer, pressing her against his hard length. She was afraid but she had already given herself up to her position. There was simply nothing she could do. She could deny him nothing. At best she could hope that he would continue to not hurt her.  
>Even if he chose to hurt her... there would still be nothing she could do but beg.<p>

"Calm yourself" his breathy layered voice comforted. "I _am _going to take you. Later. After our bath I think.  
>-It will hurt, naturally... but the pain will subside and then there will be pleasure."<p>

She looked at the pale serpentine face in confusion. The feelings jostling for place inside her were so varied and contradictory that it actually hurt just beneath her ribs.

"Why? Why do you want me? Why...haven't you... No... What I mean is... What is this really about?"

The Dark Lords eyes flashed in irritation. He appeared to scrutinize her for a long minute that stretched on uncomfortably. Eventually he said, in a tone that she found quite believable, even reasonable. "A match between us would be, to a greater or lesser degree, mutually beneficial. You may be of some use to me, and it is clear to see how being in my favour will directly affect your quality of life. More than this, however, you are the closest intellectual match I might find in the wizarding world at present."

There was the veiled implication that this status could change in the future.

"We share many interests. You have a thirst to learn, to develop your capabilities. Who could better understand your drives than I?  
>Although I am aware you have been very effectively brainwashed by that old fool, to fear the dark arts, even were you to remain ridiculously obstinate on that point indefinitely, there are still so many areas we might discuss...<br>Have you not tired of simplifying your thoughts and expressions for the less cognitively blessed among your friends and associates? Have you ever longed to meet someone who would truly challenge you?  
>There is so much I might show you, so much I have learned over the years that I have never shared; High magic that no other book, scroll or teacher can offer..."<p>

Hermione gulped.  
>His words had struck a chord and she couldnt quite dismiss the temptation that piqued suddenly at the thought of knowledge she could not attain elsewhere.<p>

"What do you really want from me?" she asked suspiciously.

A brief greedy look flickered over the Dark Lords face and vanished under the mask of earnest reason.

"I want only what you will eagerly give me: the pleasures of your body and of your mind.  
>You try to convince yourself that you should refuse me, that it is wrong to want to live... to prefer stimulation over stagnation, to want to feel, to experience again..."<p>

She recognised immediately that he had not answered her question at all. Oh... it was an answer- the most basic answer, but she highly doubted that he wanted her for conversation...or even for physical release. Those were side effects of whatever he was truly after.

The red eyes narrowed slightly and she felt his fingertips glide down her back again, his arms encircling her.  
>"You are ...pleasing...to me, Hermione" he murmured. "You are not easily led by the nose, but are intelligent enough to submit yourself completely to my will. I find your physical appearance appealing and the flavour of your mind delightful - I do not know how many dull briefings I have endured by observing them through your minds amusing running commentary.<br>...You are perhaps correct there is a further ulterior motive to my affections-"

She scrutinised the relaxed expression on the strange face inches away from her own.

"...but you do not need to worry at present about that. I offer you my promise that this ulterior motive does not involve harm to you in any way. Quite the reverse... if you give yourself over to my care entirely...if you offer me your willing trust...I will protect you."

She considered the prospect. From all angles the answer remained the same - if she agreed then there _was_ the possibility of a continuation of non harm.  
>Whatever Lord Voldemort wanted would probably constitute a massive betrayal of everything she had ever stood for, but she might not be vomiting sewing needles in the immediate future or drowning... or being eaten by spiders from the inside out. Possibly she might end up in Azkaban or dead eventually when Harry came.<br>For the moment though, the threat was infinitely greater if she should _refuse_ whatever he seemed to want.  
>And really... what was he asking? - give herself over to his care entirely? It was hardly as if she had any power to determine her own fate here anyway. As he'd said, she continued to breathe at <em>his<em> pleasure.

And...and...It hadnt been...exactly..._terrible..._to...um... _kiss_ him.  
>Lying here in the warm water on top of the smooth body wasnt actually the <em>worst <em>possible sensation in the world; definitely not as bad as sewing needles in the throat or spiders in her chest cavity.

She felt him snort faintly beneath her and refocused her eyes upon the glittering red ones observing her - no doubt observing her internal thought processes too with amusement.

He wanted...trust... he'd said.  
>She didnt know whether she could even remotely give him that.<br>Did she trust him? Not in the slightest. Not even _faintly._ At any second he might turn and flay her alive.  
>She <em>feared<em> him. She _accepted_ his power. Trust was something else entirely.

A hand stroking down her back made her jump slightly. "Perhaps trust will come in time" he conceded softly. "Will you _obey_ me in all things, irrespective your feelings toward my instructions?"

She swallowed and admitted to herself that she would.

She was afraid of what he might order her to do, because she suspected she would probably do it, if it didnt involve directly harming anyone she cared for.

The red orbs narrowed.  
>"And what if I ordered you to kill Ronald Weasley? he asked speculatively<br>or..._Ginny_ Weasley?"

She bit her lips in horror trying to suppress the internal panic.  
>"I... I dont think I can kill <em>anyone"<em> she whispered.

The pale face seemed to become thoughtful. "What about a death eater? If one of my servants were threatening _Harry_...could you kill him?"

Her panic deepened. There was no way she was going to say that she might kill a death eater to save Harry. Not while lying _here_... not to _this man_.  
>"I dont know" she said. "I... would use a spell to stun or wound rather than kill, I suppose."<p>

Lord Voldemort did not appear to be bothered by this answer. She had expected at least a scornful expression and possibly a _lot_ more, but he seemed...pleased... with her response. He raised his hand and stroked over her wet hair.  
>It felt very strange to be petted in this manner. She hadnt ever really dated. The only physical contact she really had with others was the occasional hug with Ron and Harry or with her parents. Physical affection of this type was an entirely new phenomenon and the fact that it was <em>this<em> man very nearly boggled the mind.

If someone had told her last year that she would find herself, in a matter of months, lying in a bath and being stroked by Lord Voldemort, she'd have laughed at them and given them directions to St Mungo's. And yet... here she seemed to be!

"Kiss me." The thin pale lips commanded quietly, derailing her train of thought. She flinched and they curved up into a faint smirk.  
>Swallowing down her fear and closing her eyes she leaned down cautiously and brushed her lips over the smooth warm ones on the strange flat face.<br>He responded subtly, encouraging her to continue.  
>She felt his arms encircling her again and tried a bit harder; it wasn't an area she had a lot of experience in.<p>

His tongue startled her when it flickered quickly against her top lip.

Steeling herself, she tried to deepen the kiss, parting her lips and doing the same thing back.  
>When her tongue met up with the hot slick point of his, she shivered slightly and then he was exploring her mouth. Probing and tasting and sliding the hot wet muscle against her own.<p>

He had tilted his head.

Even in the midst of everything she had enough mind left to find it odd.  
>He had no nose. There was no need.<br>She wondered whether it was simply a habit from when he _had_ a nose.  
>She wondered how many women he had been with.<br>A great deal?  
>Ginny had confessed that the Tom Riddle from the diary had been very handsome.<p>

He smiled against her mouth, through the kiss, and she felt exposed again as he pulled back, nipping at her bottom lip gently as he retreated.

"..Fewer than you might imagine perhaps" he informed her, smirking. "I had_ other_ priorities in my youth. As _you_ have had other priorities. I have found that sexual entanglements can be problematic. Bellatrix is a case in point."

Hermione blinked, surprised.  
>Not that Bellatrix Lestrange had apparently been involved with Lord Voldemort at some point - that was not difficult to believe at all from the way the witch carried on about him and looked at him.<br>No What was bizarre was that he was _telling her_ this.  
>Lord Voldemort had just confessed that he was not a stud or a player or... any of the other terms used to connote guys who had a <em>lot<em> of experience with girls. It was unexpected that _this_ man would ever admit weakness or less than complete mastery in any area.

The serpentine man snorted again softly, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I did not intend to imply that I lacked _experience_...child. No... very _soon_ now you will find that I have made a rather thorough study of the area... with and without magical enhancements.  
>I have merely found it...inconvenient...to involve myself with witches... or wizards for that matter. There are better uses for my time.<br>Apart from this I do not share well. What I take is _mine_.. After I have had you, you will never again need to be concerned that any other might lay a finger upon you."

Hermione looked at the hard glint in the scarlet eyes and swallowed. She wondered suddenly how many of Lord Voldemorts past lovers were still alive.

The slow stroke down her spine with a fingertip and the tiny predatory twist of his thin lips gave her the feeling that it probably wasnt many.

He leaned forward and kissed her lightly, then pushed her away gently.  
>She willingly retreated but was not allowed far. He rearranged her until she sat between his parted legs facing away from him.<p>

It turned out that looking at Lord Voldemort..even kissing Lord Voldemort.. was preferable to knowing he was there and _not_ being able to see the expression on his face.

She spluttered and coughed as what seemed like a bucket of water was suddenly dropped on her head without warning; almost turning around angrily before she caught herself.  
>Stupid. Its just water. A mouthful of water versus the cruciatus.. hm.. let me think about it..<p>

She blinked her eyes free of droplets and then there were hands on her head... A cool gel-like sensation and then massaging.

He was _washing _her _hair._

Her mind kept producing exclamation points.

Why was he doing this? Why _would_ he?. It was absurd!.  
>...It felt really nice though. The sensation of it. The fingertips teasing at her scalp... moving in toe curling little circles at the back of her head... the top of her spine. She let her head roll back against them like a cat having its ears scratched. <em>This<em> had to be the most surreal moment of her life so far, she mused.

His clever fingers were melting her mind as he moved down from her head to massage her neck and then shoulders. She felt like a mass of raw nerves all tingling in pleasure.  
>Surely he had to be using some kind of spell.<p>

"No." he murmured softly behind her. "Perhaps later... But no. You are merely very sensitive. Inexperienced. You are going to _enjoy_ what I will show you tonight."  
>She wasnt sure whether it was a prediction or an order but nodded bonelessly.<p>

"Down..." he urged her gently, pressing on her shoulders.

She let herself slip down in the bath until she floated with her eyes closed, her face out of the water and her hair flowing out around her. She could feel him swirling his fingers through it, removing the shampoo.  
>A few times a smooth hand stroked over her forehead, her ears, wiping away the faint remains of suds. Then hands delved and gripped her under the arms and she was dragged easily up to lie on his hard chest.<p>

She felt unaccountably relaxed. Perhaps a potion?

She felt him snort. "You are quite suspicious." he whispered against her ear and the movement of his mouth there caused a fluttery quiver in her stomach. His hands slid over her slick skin, gliding up and cupping her breasts.

She hadnt even thought about how exposed she was until he touched her there again.

Now though it was very different. Just as his fingers had known exactly how to touch and press to make her melt, his hands now knew how to hold her... how to stroke her skin... how to massage her small globes to make her sigh.. make her bite her lip and gasp in pleasure.

She wriggled against him and could feel that he had hardened beneath her again.  
>Just at this particular second she was a little preoccupied to care much about it and the next moment she didnt even have time to yelp before hed apparated them both.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N REASONABLY EXPLICIT LEMONS AHEAD. Don't like - don't read.**

A drying charm flashed over her like a searing breath.

She still lay atop the pale hard body but the effects of gravity had re-established themselves and now she felt warm dry silky skin pressed against her from heels to nape.

Looking around, she saw that it was quite dark in here also.  
>A large room – an antique looking polished wood desk over to the side with a green glass lamp. Parchments and books littered its surface as if the writer had stood up from some involved project and left everything in place. Then there were bookshelves.<br>She couldn't help the wide eyed gulp at the long wall of bookshelves full of dark leather and cloth bound books. Something small, furtive and half feral in her yammered to be allowed to go and look through the titles. So long... so long since she'd last read a book!

The bed she lay upon was large and resembled the style of the beds at Hogwarts, however it lacked any curtains and the beams were crossed above the bed as her eye wandered up. A metallic ring in the centre of the X glinted ominously.

One of Lord Voldemort's hands stroked down her abdomen slowly. "Not today. I will show you the uses of that another time."

She shivered, trying to tear her active imagination away from the ring overhead.

"Get up. On your knees!." The hand withdrew to accommodate this new order.

She found it difficult to get up. She was balanced on his body and what with where her bottom was currently she didn't want to just sit up. After a moment of dithering she rolled off to the side and got up onto her hands and knees.

"No. Kneel _here_. Straddle me." he corrected, gesturing to his lap and then lifting his arms and folding them behind his head, the picture of ease and control. The hard line of his member was clear in her peripheral vision even if she forced herself not to look there.

Seconds dragged on. She tried to make herself move. But here, kneeling, crouching down she felt safe; compressed into a tight little curl. To move - especially to more _there -_ would constitute an opening; an exposition relative to her current position.

Impatience and warning flickered on the alien face and she jerked, adrenalin forcing her limbs to comply.  
>She climbed over the lean muscled thighs and found she had to part her legs quite far and could not kneel without her inner thighs pressing against his outer, half sitting on him. It felt even more exposed than she had feared and she wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, trying to control her shaking.<p>

"Good girl." His voice was quiet.

"Touch yourself."

Her eyes flew open in horror. No! There was no way she could do that. She COULD not do that. It was not within the realm of the possible.

Hairless brows rose on the face of the wizard beneath her. "No? Why ever not? You claimed to be willing to obey."

She gulped again against her throat that had gone bone dry. "I can't" she whispered, pleading. "Please..."  
>When he sat up quickly, she flinched back and cowered. His face was almost at the same level as her own. He was so...tall...so much bigger than she was. A hard steely glint was in the red eyes as he reached for her and dragged her upright again, peeling her arms away from around her body. "Obey..." he murmured.<br>His hand around her own led her fingertips down her abdomen slowly to the triangle of short curls at the apex of her thighs. She tried to pull back but his grip was iron. He forced her fingers down, down into her soft folds.  
>Leaning down then he captured her nipple with his lips, suckling gently.<p>

She shuddered at the feeling. Her own fingers, guided by his hand, glided limply over her clitoris and that too felt...traitorously tantalising. She curved them slightly, almost without thinking, in the way she was most familiar with and received a flickering tongue over her nipple as apparent reward.  
>He moved to her other nipple, glancing up at her as he did with an unreadable expression, and gave it a similar treatment.<br>Her fingertips, quite without her permission had started to quest and stroke at her sensitive nub. It wasn't wet enough.

Her hand was pulled away immediately and lifted to his mouth.  
>She blinked as Lord Voldemort sucked her first two fingers, red eyes displaying dark amusement at her appalled expression and removed them, slick with saliva, immediately pressing her hand back to its former task. It felt a lot better. She delved deeper. Rocking her hips slightly.<p>

His hand cautiously released her own, as if balancing a house of cards. He leaned back slowly until he could rest on his elbows and look up at her, which made her stop moving and blush redly.

"No. Continue." He instructed quietly. "Show me. Show me how you pleasure yourself."  
>Her blush deepened if anything. She felt frozen. Her hand shook, the movement of her fingers stilled.<br>The sudden irritation on his face frightened her. She had seen it before a lot. When he wore this face, pain almost invariably followed for someone. The irritation flickered and became frustration and then resignation.

Sitting up, he made a complex gesture in the air and a black piece of fabric slithered into being, winding through his long pale fingers. She watched it transfixed. And then she couldn't watch anything anymore because he had reached up and affixed the silken blindfold over her eyes.

The next thing she felt were warm hands on the cheeks of her bottom, dragging her forward past his pelvis until she knelt over his abdomen. There was nothing for a few moments and she bit her lip, waiting for whatever would happen to her now. Then her hand was gently pushed aside and she jumped as _his_ fingertips stroked feather light over her.  
>"Shhhhh... Calm..." he murmured.<br>His fingers went away and came back again slick and wet. She gasped as they explored her gently, delving down deeper and tracing the small circlet of her entrance. One finger slipped inside but withdrew again almost immediately.

She realised he had been checking to see if her hymen was intact and frowned beneath the blindfold. He really was going to have sex with her. Clearly.

The light pressure of his slick fingers trailed back up and stroked over the tiny bud at the top, making her tense slightly. It felt so completely different than when she touched herself.  
>She struggled to suppress her reaction. She didn't <em>want<em> to react. Not for _him_. He might be fascinating to watch from the cage and he might not have hurt her yet, but he was still Voldemort. _Voldemort!_

He strummed at her gently and she shivered and rocked her hips helplessly, blind. The blindfold seemed to make it even harder to ignore the sensations and easier to forget who was evoking them. Straining to prevent herself from responding again she wrapped her arms around herself tightly.

"Hands behind your back, I think." The reedy voice instructed almost patiently.  
>When she didn't move to comply she was jolted and yelped out loudly, jumping away from an electric shock in her most sensitive place - right where his slender fingers were playing.<p>

"Put your hands behind your back Hermione. You do not wish to oblige me to repeat myself again."

She pulled her hands behind her back quickly, blinking away tears. She both heard and felt him move and then he pressed her wrists against one another. When his hand moved away she was unsurprised to find she could not part them again. Then he returned to touching her and now there were nothing she could do about the feeling of being completely open and vulnerable.  
>His fingers moved in exploration; changing their pattern of movement, now skating lightly up and down, now side to side and then in circles.<br>She whimpered. That was how she preferred to touch herself when she was in bed alone at night.  
>It was... so much stronger... so much <em>more<em> when foreign fingers were stimulating her in that way – her breath came faster.

He seemed to pick this up immediately and started to vary his pressure, locating the level that made her move helplessly against his hand and _then..._then he alternated until he found a speed that had her moaning softly and winding her hips, her head falling back in unwilling pleasure as he manipulated her with ease toward a climax she could no more resist than she could resist drawing breath.

Just as she neared it she felt a fingertip circle her entrance, slowly, teasingly, dipping in and circling again and it pushed her sharply over the edge. She cried out in release and he _knew_ what she needed, pressing hard, mashing her clit with a rapidly circling thumb as she came apart.  
>In her daze she felt two fingers slide through her wetness and then she <em>heard<em> him suck on them. She had the feeling he _wanted_ her to hear.

"You taste divine..." he said in a tone that sounded thoughtful. "I have never sampled a mudblood before. I had thought you might taste-.." His voice trailed off and then he leaned up, unbinding her hands and pulled her down to him.

She emitted a weary yelp of surprise as she overbalanced and fell, landing against his hard warm chest. Lips... He kissed her. She could taste herself very faintly on his tongue. "Give yourself to me" he growled low between kisses. "Say yes."  
>She kissed him back because it was less energy than struggling, but she didn't reply.<p>

The blindfold was pulled off roughly and he rolled her beneath him, his body resting heavily against her, cradled absurdly naturally between her parted legs.

She looked up at the white alien face – disturbed anew at the strangeness of it after only minutes of its absence. He leaned down slowly and kissed her again, lingeringly. There was something dark in his kiss this time.

"Ask me to take you. _Demand _it. Give yourself to me, Hermione!"

He rocked against her and the hard hot press of his thick shaft was somehow obscenely exciting. She realised she was curious how it would feel if he put it inside her. What was sex like? Everyone else seemed to make a big fuss over it. She didn't want to find out with _him_...but then... there was that curiosity. He was horrible. Terrifying. Fascinating. Powerful. Intelligent...um... He kissed her again, harder, bruising her lips. She gave herself over to it.

There was _nothing_ whatsoever she could do right now. She was in a bed and Lord Voldemort had for whatever reason decided he wanted to have sex with her and surely nobody in the world could possibly despise her later on for letting it happen rather than provoking punishment and torture.

Surely! It made no sense to do that – she'd only be weaker for it and he'd probably rape her anyway.  
>Her heart sank a little. Harry would hold it against her. He would never accept it.<br>No matter what happened, if she didn't fight tooth and nail, she'd lose him forever.

The snake above her had dropped his face to her neck and was doing very interesting things there with his tongue. She angled her head for him without even thinking and then sucked in a breath in surprised pleasure as he nibbled on a place that had her toes curling. "Ohhhh..."  
>The feeling intensified until she became faintly aware that she was mewling and clutching at him. He ground his cock against her and she moaned and rubbed herself on it.<p>

"Give yourself to me" he whispered against her ear and she nodded, clinging and just wanting him to go back to biting up and down the side of her throat gently.

"No... _Say_ it. I wish to hear it!" He breathed at the shell of her ear, making her shudder excitedly.

She bit her tongue, trying to stop the words that wanted to pour out of her mouth. He nipped her teasingly and she felt his fingers scratch up her ribs and fondle her breast. He was being so bizarrely gentle.  
>In her remotest consideration of how Lord Voldemort might treat her if he ever...um... <em>not<em> that she'd thought he ever _would_ obviously – but in that unlikely scenario she'd imagined blood and screaming and terror.  
>The hot mouth at her neck moved up to nibble her earlobe. "That too can be arranged." he murmured and she thought quickly.<p>

"Take me, if you want me." she sighed, turning her face, her cheek brushing against the pale smooth one. Her hands were investigating the muscles on his shoulders and back.

He turned and kissed her once more and she felt him move slightly. Then without warning he thrust forward with unerring aim, driving into her brutally. She screamed. It hurt more than she had ever imagined it would – and that was _after_ listening to the girls in the dorm talk about how terrible it had been their first time. It felt like he had torn her open.  
>He pulled out with a feeling as if he was dragging half her insides with him and then stabbed roughly in again, deeper this time.<p>

She scrabbled and tried to push him off. "Stop! Please! Please... it hurts." She managed, choked.

He paid not the slightest attention but caught her wrists and pressed them to the bed next to her head as he moved in her harshly – he was almost fully seated each time now and it felt like he was stabbing one of her internal organs when he thrust in.  
>"Hush. A little pain. Don't fuss." he said huskily, a dark gleam of lust on his face.<p>

She felt tears springing up and tried to remain still. Hopefully he would finish quickly.

He sighed heavily and ceased his motion, turning and kissing her again. She didn't respond but it didn't seem to perturb him at all. He kissed her gently, almost soothingly.

"Don't pout" he murmured against her lips. "In the beginning there is pain. You knew this. But it will abate."  
>He circled his pelvis slowly and it stung a little but felt strange also... like... an itch or a tickle or... a sensation that begged a physical response.<p>

"It is already less painful... is it not?"

He pressed tiny butterfly kisses to her lips and eased out and back into her smoothly. It still hurt when he pressed in.

"Yes... that is simply a factor of the disparity in our relative sizes. You are...small...tight... that is a good thing. You feel...like a velvet vice around me. _Intensely_ pleasurable. And in time... when you adapt you will appreciate my size. " He circled his pelvis again as he ground deeper into her and she winced at the sharp stabbing pain. It felt like her body was not designed for this; like he was stretching her beyond capacity. It felt...it felt...kind of good now.

He smirked and ground against her again and she tightened her muscles in response unconsciously, making him close his eyes and hiss softly. Blinking she observed this strange demonstration of enjoyment and did it again.  
>He thrust into her harder, his hairless head dropping slightly and a strange almost peaceful expression on his face, his eyes still closed. She could hear his breath was faster now. Abruptly he pulled his head up and watched her. The black slits of his eyes were so wide that they were ovals.<p>

He seemed to be struggling to study her as if watching for something. He shifted around and adjusted his movement, much as he had with his fingers until she was just unable to think any more... gasping out in little excited sighs and bucking up hard against him.  
>He played her up and down with ease, bringing her to the edge of release and then changing his movement and frustrating her. She was only faintly aware of the panting satisfaction on the flat face.<p>

When she was almost at the brink of screaming in frustrated need, he balanced and then slid a hand between them both, to toy with her and she suddenly lost herself completely and screamed out in ecstatic bliss, clinging tightly to the hard body above as her climax drowned her.

She heard him hiss something in parseltongue in her ear and the sound was somehow perversely sexy, and then he was groaning and coming.  
>Hot slippery liquid burst against her deep inside. She felt it faintly. It was an entirely new sensation that she was not able to appreciate fully due to the fact that her mind was exploding in bright flashes and liquidlike waves of pleasure.<br>His face was bowed against her neck, breathing quickly as his movements, jerky and almost spasmodic slowed and he ground into her with a low groan of relief.

She panted, trying to regain her breath, entirely unable to move; reeling her mind back in. That had felt...amazing! All the time she'd been in the library studying while everyone else was off shagging like nifflers.  
>If she'd known it felt like <em>that<em>, she thought she might have possibly been just a little bit more like lavender or Ginny. She might have-..

A painful stinging hex made her entire body flinch as she yelped out in shock. That HURT! Her body felt soft and raw and it hurt a LOT.

Lord Voldemort was glaring at her disapprovingly, their bodies still entwined. "None of that, mudblood. I'll not listen to a list of the partners you wish you had taken. _Especially_ not at this particular moment. I am... pleased... you _like_ this activity. There is much, much more to learn."

At the word learn her mind drifted back to the glorious expanse of his bookshelves and she felt the snake snort in amusement above her.

"While I understand _that_ sentiment also...In fact I may understand better than any other you might meet... I would rather not share your attention with my library right now either."

He stretched and rolled his shoulders and then slid back, withdrawing from her smoothly and lowering himself to lie beside her.  
>She lay, uncertain what to do now, trying her best not to think about the lovely lovely books a few metres away. What did he want? She didn't imagine Lord Voldemort to be the cuddling type. But he had suggested he wanted her attention now.<br>If she tried to snuggle up to him (ignoring the obvious insanity of this thought) then he might hex her or something.

She glanced nervously to the side.

The white form lay in a position of utmost relaxation. He had thrown a bent arm up onto the pillow above his head. Her eye took in the absolute hairlessness of his body - so smooth, hard, like warm marble.  
>It was... unnatural.<br>But not necessarily aesthetically displeasing.  
>With the exception of his nose and perhaps his lack of hair on his head... and maybe the eyes - (the eyes were kind of terrifying) - he could be an attractive man. He was beautifully toned, each muscle well defined and proportioned.<br>Was being a psychotic despot a good workout, she wondered. Or did he dedicate himself to some kind of gymnasium training daily?

He closed his eyes while she watched and she thought again of how he had submerged himself in the bath. He had looked strangely calm and peaceful like that and the look on his face was similar now. "What would you like to learn?" he murmured softly.

She blinked, not expecting the question at all. 'Um... everything?' her mind responded greedily. A tiny smirk twisted the corner of his mouth. "What would you _most_ like to read about at present? I am feeling generous."

Hermione struggled to reign in her frantically demanding factions. Transfiguration. No! Charms. NO! Runes – Voldemort was supposed to be a master in ancient runes, wasn't he?  
>The next thought didn't so much announce itself as sidle up and whisper conspiratorially in the back of her mind. 'I might never have a chance to study the dark arts if I'm rescued. What better excuse than Voldemort made me do it? And he'd have an absolutely massive collection! He'd know what the best texts are – he'd have <em>rare<em> texts. He might have even written his own work in the area. It would be the best use of the option.  
>And... He might like it if I show an interest in the dark arts... not that him liking anything is at all relevant beyond keeping him from cursing me. But still... it would be the best choice.<p>

"Are you certain you can reconcile yourself morally with that subject?" –he yawned and she frowned; thinking as clearly as she could: 'stop listening to my thoughts. It's very rude.' His snort and smile told her that he'd heard that too.

"I told you once before – I _enjoy_ your mind. You are often quite unintentionally amusing.  
>...Very well. I will give you what you <em>think<em> you want. The Dark Arts are very broad. I will allow you to read a fairly introductory level runic text and we shall see how you receive it."  
>He lifted his left hand and summoned a book from the wall of bookshelves. She noted that it was his left hand. Wandless magic with his non dominant hand - That was bloody impressive.<p>

The book he had summoned floated over and he caught it out of the air without looking and passed it to her, shifting slightly as if to make himself more comfortable. "Wake me..._carefully_... when you reach chapter five and we shall see how well you have comprehended the material."  
>She sat up in surprise, holding the thick black leather bound tome. There would be a <em>test<em> on it? Oh no! She wanted clothing. And a desk or a table or something. This was... this was just not right.

Voldemort lazed, seemingly utterly at home in his nakedness. She looked about in discomfort. There was no way she could presume to use his desk and she needed some kind of clothing. Her clothes were in the bathroom on the floor, the recalled but looking around she couldn't see any kind of door that might lead to a bathroom. There were no doors at _all _in this room.

She looked back down at Voldemort again as if the blind force of her discomfort would provoke a sudden personality change and he'd show mercy and give her a slip or a shift or _something.  
><em>He hadn't even scourgified her. She could feel his... his...  
>..oh for goodness sake, don't be squeamish about it <em>now<em>...

That thought dragged another one after it like a mouse leading a troll on a leash. He had... um. she obviously wasn't on the potion. Had he cast any charms? Oh god... what if she got pregnant?

She didn't believe in abortion but it actually seemed almost an appealing prospect in contrast with the alternatives.  
>What if he killed her for it?<br>What if he _didn't _kill her?  
>But no! He'd never allow a child from a muggleborn to come into the world. He'd kill her – or kill it. Same difference.<p>

Perhaps it wasn't too late to ask for the potion or something? Muggles had a morning after pill – there must be something of that type in the wizarding world, surely.

"You have not begun reading yet" the soft dangerous voice interrupted her frantic thoughts.

She turned to see a tightness around his forehead that hadn't been there before. "No... I'm sorry. I'll... i'll start now."  
>His expression didn't become peaceful again. If anything it tightened. He cracked a single crimson eye. "You would rather die than bear my child?"<p>

She goggled. What could she possibly say to that? Terror blossomed in her. Had he perhaps done it deliberately? Did he want a child? Was that why he'd done it? "I'm... a mug-mudblood" she said, almost pleadingly. "You _couldn't_...You-"

"_Never_ presume to try and tell me what I can and cannot do" He interrupted coldly, his red eyes opening wide in anger. "– I have killed infinitely more powerful beings than yourself for the insolence."  
>"I <em>know<em> you are aware of my _own_ parentage. Would a mudblood mother truly be significantly worse than a muggle father?"

"Over time I have learned that blood is not _everything, _Hermione_._ Far more important are power... ability... intelligence...and of course...physical _potency_ - Which this body lacks.  
>At present I could not impregnate you even if I desired such a thing. There is not a fertility spell in existence that could achieve that. This body is not...<em>human<em>. Read the book and let me sleep now."

He closed his eyes and turned his face away. The atmosphere around him had changed though. Gone was the peaceful ease.  
>She swallowed, regretting having ruined that mood.<br>Objectively seen he had been ...nice... to her. He'd let her have a bath. He'd...it had been nice – weird but nice – when he washed her hair and ok perhaps she hadn't exactly _wanted_ to sleep with him but he'd been... mostly... gentle and it had felt very..._very_...good... and then he gave her a _book_...practically a book of her _choice_ to read. No... Better than her choice... she didn't know enough about the area to make an informed choice. He gave her a book he thought might appeal to her and then he said he would go over the material with her later.

That was just... above and beyond being...nice... to her. At least.. for Voldemort.

She realised that the tiny niggly feeling inside was actually _guilt_.  
>She felt <em>guilty<em> for upsetting Lord Voldemort. What the hell was wrong with her? The idea of hurting Voldemort's feelings was just bizarre – did he even _have_ feelings? It seemed like something he would be generally opposed to.

And yet – _she_ had feelings and right now she felt bad. As if she had done something offensive accidentally.  
>She looked over at him and considered apologising. Or... or <em>touching<em> him... or _something. _But in the end she decided it was a bad idea if he was in a bad mood. It would be better if she just worked hard to prove herself by comprehending the material in the book.

She opened it up on her naked lap and, with a resolute expression, set her unfit, too-long-out-of-classes, mind to deciphering the thick runic text.


	4. Chapter 4

Her back hurt when she woke and as she tried to stretch, quite a few other muscle groups protested urgently. She cracked her eyes and looked out blearily through the silver filigree.

Voices had woken her.

Professor Snape was down on one knee before the bottom step making a report.  
>Harry. She'd heard Harry's name mentioned.<p>

She forced her mind awake and tried to focus on the professor.

"-order hasn't had contact with Potter or Weasley in two months now. They are extremely concerned. There have been isolated unsubstantiated reports of sightings but I have not been successful in persuading them to breach their respective fidelius boundaries in order to pursue the two wretches. They are clinging to the notion that Dumbledore must have prepared the boy for an extended period underground."

Hermione woke up a little more, her mind snapping to attention. She remained exactly as she lay, unwilling to risk drawing attention to herself at present.  
>In her peripheral vision she saw that the red dress Voldemort had put back on her last night (or... this morning? Time was a sketchy thing these days) had been changed by the elves while she slept. Her body was encased in grey-blue satin with silvery embroidery now.<p>

For some inexplicable reason she had the sudden feeling that Voldemort was aware she had woken and had turned his attention toward her. She could see that he sat unmoved in his throne. No faint gesture or flicker of a crimson eye suggested that she was being observed... and yet... she just _knew _she was.

Professor Snape continued speaking. "Perhaps we might draw potter and Weasley out - or at the very least lure out some of the Order if we use the mudblood as-"

"No." Lord Voldemort interrupted dismissively. "How are affairs at Hogwarts, Severus?" he questioned, changing the subject.

Professor Snape blinked, his face absolutely emotionless.

"The school is running tolerably well, My Lord. The Carrows are proving somewhat counter-productive in many ways. They have been torturing students for the smallest infractions. It is feeding support for an underground resistance group along the lines of the little training club potter set up in fifth year."

Hermione stiffened and was sorely tempted to leap up and respond to that.  
>Harry didn't set it up. SHE had set it up. The DA had been her idea, she had <em>organized<em> it, she had _recruited_ and bound its members. She had found many if not _most_ of the spells that Harry had taught. Half of them _she'd _taught _him_ first! The DA was _her_ group -created in response to the utter joke that DADA had become under Umbrages tyranny. Bloody censored children's books that had nothing whatsoever to do with anything even faintly defence related. Stupid horrid _horrid_ woman.'

She caught the phantom smirk flash over the face of the serpent Lord. Professor Snape seemed to interpret it as related to the Carrows.

"I shall perhaps speak with them, my servant. Although... I don't really see where the harm lies. Those students who dare to resist... who attempt to _fight_ me... will all be destroyed."

"Do not concern yourself with the boy or his sidekick. I have _others_ working on that particular issue. ...I would prefer to keep the mudblood caged at present. I wish to kill her before Harry's eyes when the time comes."

Hermione felt her blood run cold suddenly.  
>Oh.<br>That was what was going to happen. Why she hadn't been hurt... hadn't been... had _hardly_ been touched. He would probably tell Harry what she'd done with him.  
>She felt sick suddenly, her stomach cramping in horror. Stupid stupid stupid. Of course that was the point. How deranged had she become from living in this cage that she even faintly considered for a second that there could be any other reason for her continued, relatively unharmed, existence.<p>

"But surely my L-" professor Snape began. Hermione could have _told_ him not to try it. "_Crucio!" _ the high reedy voice spat and the professor crashed to the floor shaking and writhing in pain.  
>To his credit he suffered in near silence, only gaspy breaths conveying his agony.<p>

Voldemort held the curse on him for ten achingly long seconds.

As he arched and convulsed professor Snape's eyes flicked to her, meeting her own gaze as she lay, widening in shock then, before they closed in something that looked remarkably like shame.  
>She closed her own eyes in response, listening as the curse was dropped and professor Snape gasped apologies for daring to second guess his Lordliness and was summarily dismissed.<p>

She opened her eyes again because of a strange awareness.  
>Like the sense of being attended to before, she felt the weight of eyes upon her.<p>

When she opened her eyes she startled.  
>Voldemort stood very close to the cage, looking through the filigree down at her with a thoughtful expression. He flicked a hand in a casual gesture and the style of her dress altered itself around her. Its length crawled up her knee to rest on her mid thigh daringly. The bodice became tighter. Then he turned away without a word and returned to his throne, sitting with an air of impatience.<p>

She pushed herself up off the floor to a sitting position and stretched.  
>It was cold. Colder now that she had less satin around her to tuck her legs into.<p>

The crack of apparition drew her eye as if a commercial break on television had finished.

A man she had seen once or twice before stood looking pleased with himself and strode forward, dropping to his knee eagerly. He had dark blond hair that was bound in a coiffed queue behind him and a slender build – his blue eyes were lively but arrogant. She recalled he worked in the ministry. Some clerk or something. He wasn't very important... but he _thought_ he was.

"Success, My Lord! Your directions were perfect – the entire department was empty and I was able to intercept it _seconds_ after it appeared. It was not officially noted in any way."

Voldemort looked inordinately pleased and Hermione wondered what it was that he cared about to that extent. Something horrible, almost certainly. Bad news for her. Bad news for Harry and the order.

"Excellent, Travers. Give it to me."

The man reached into his pocket and withdrew a scroll bound in thin white ribbon. It was summoned out of his hand immediately. Lord Voldemort caught it and untied it quickly, opening it and inspecting whatever was written inside. His smile widened into a dark gloat of satisfaction. "Did you read it, Travers?" he asked, without looking at the man.

Travers paused just a fraction of a second too long. Hermione _knew_ he must have read it. It was in the tension at the corner of his mouth.

"No, My Lord, what is it?" he asked disingenuously.

The crimson eyes slid up and then the man dropped to his knees, his mouth an O of shock and eyes wide and frightened.  
>Voldemort dropped his mind again seconds later with a derisive sneer. "Well at least you were not foolish enough to attempt to make copies." He raised his wand with an air of finality Hermione had come to know extremely well. "Avada Kedavra." He said almost disinterestedly.<p>

Travers did not even _try_ to evade the curse and seemed unable to comprehend that he was being killed; right up until the green light struck him and knocked the life out of his eyes.

She watched the expression shift on the pale flat face into the one she had labelled internally 'making a long distance call' It preceded someone turning up here so often she had come to understand that in some way he was summoning them.  
>He leaned back in the throne, gazing off into the distance as if deep in thought.<p>

The time stretched on and no death eater appeared.

This appeared to upset Voldemort and he took on the expression of 'making an _urgent_ long distant call.' From the way those summoned appeared gripping their arm and looking pained, she assumed that he was able to make it quite uncomfortable for them if they chose to ignore his summons.

Finally after another two minutes a man apparated into the room looking extremely distressed.

Seeing Travers body crumpled on the floor he seemed to panic even more and threw himself to his knees immediately, pressing his face to the ground and prostrating himself.  
>He was quite young. Not bad looking, she thought. He had short dark brown hair and dark eyes. He looked like an actor she remembered from a science fiction movie actually. A little bit.<p>

"Please My Lord!" he wailed.

"Unfortunately Gorley, your dear friend has sealed your fate. A pity."

"OBLIVIATE ME!" the man screamed desperately.

Voldemort seemed to consider this seriously. "No...I am not prepared to accept any liabilities in this matter. But don't despair. I shall see that your family are taken care of. Your son will one day serve in your place."

"NO!" Gorley shouted and was silenced by a green flash.  
>Hermione watched the deaths of the two men with dull acceptance. It didn't even manage to <em>disturb<em> her that seeing this day in, day out hardly affected her anymore.  
>She could watch someone killed and truly have no opinion either way.<p>

When Voldemort spoke quietly and his tone indicated that he addressed _her_ she tried to suppress the weird little frisson of excitement at the thought that the anomaly of yesterday was apparently not a one-time-only event. She shouldn't be pleased at that.  
>He'd said he was going to kill her. He'd only behaved like that yesterday so that he could rub it in Harry's face.<br>He was an evil monster in so very many ways she couldn't even begin to name them all.

"How might I dispose of these bodies? ...Name five ways."

She blinked and looked at him and then her mind kicked in, answering automatically. "You could vanish them. Transfigure them. Feed them to Nagini, incinerate them or divide them into component parts and use them in potions."

"Name another five" he said quietly and turned to her with a glint of challenge in the red gaze.

"Um... ok... you could dissolve them in acid and pour them down the drain, you could push them through the veil in the department of mysteries, you could ...bury them underneath a coffin in a graveyard"  
>She grasped for solutions from television. "You could chain them to an anchor and drop them into the ocean... you could..."<p>

He interrupted "You think like a muggle. What _spells_ could I use to dispose of them?"

She frowned slightly and thought about all the spells she knew. "Do you want to get rid of them completely or just put them somewhere or in some form where they won't be found?" He smiled at her approvingly. "Tell me how I might destroy them entirely."

She bit her lip and let her head lean against the cage. "Ok... in the dissolving and vanishing spells there's diffluo, dirimo, hferva, desagertu, zmizet, vyprchat"  
>He raised his eyebrows as if to say 'do go on.'<br>"Um...ischezat, sbelgat, evanesco, emaresco, vanesco, abolesco, pereo, praemorio, maneant... decedo, ...diflannu...uh..."  
>She struggled to think of one she hadn't mentioned. "I'm... not sure..." she said softly.<p>

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Incinerating spells then. Begin."

She petered out around the twenty fifth spell. To be fair the last ten were all spells that were principally used for something else but theoretically _could_ be used to incinerate a body if one were patient enough. He had her go through cutting spells – which she knew a _lot_ more of- and then asked her about the possible transfigurations and the difficulties with these.

While she answered, he watched her with a pleased expression, lounging back in the throne and toying absently at the arm with one hand. Her eye was drawn to it magnetically as she spoke.  
>When he started to draw little circles on the wood with a long finger she blushed automatically, stuttering and breaking off her explanation.<p>

He smirked in amusement. "Not tonight."

His meaning was unmistakeable and she told herself that she was _relieved _and not disappointed or god forbid _hurt. _

He stood, drifting gracefully to the edge of the low stairs and pointed his wand, vanishing Travers. He then levitated Gorley up and pulled him through the air closer.

"You find him attractive..." he observed in a neutral tone that set the hairs on the back of her neck rising.  
>She swallowed, not answering – no answer would be safe at this point – not when he looked like <em>that. <em>Not when he used that calm quiet voice. Tendrils of fear iced slowly up her veins.

"I could render him an inferius and muzzle him if you wish his _services_ in my absence..."  
>His tone was soft and cruelly derisive but she wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't do it. He was quite impulsive when it came to doing nasty things to others.<p>

"No! Please! I _don't_ find him attractive. Please don't!" she begged.

The thought of the man, white eyed and foaming around a muzzle, pushing her down and raping her filled her mind and she clenched her eyes closed and tried to get rid of the image. It was so clear.

She could almost feel the hands clawing at her, trying to tear at her in inhuman hunger... the blind animal rutting ripping her open; she could almost hear the growls and moans.  
>She whimpered and clenched her hands in her ringlets, pulling at her hair.<br>The sensation faded and she looked up shocked.

Voldemort was smirking horribly. He wore a satisfied mien.  
>She realised he'd been in her mind. That was almost certainly what the horrible panicking expression she saw on the faces of death eaters and captives sometimes was about. The images were from <em>him.<em>

God... it was terrible.

She looked down and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

"Are you certain?" Voldemort's voice was soft, a parody of temptation. "Gorley was quite popular with the women. I am certain that even in a...somewhat diminished... condition he could satisfy you adequately."

She shook her head frantically, pleading in silence for him not to hurt her. Lord Voldemort's smirk faded to a cold threatening snarl and he stepped right up to the cage. "In future you will _remember_ who you belong to. If it happens again, I will _not_ be merciful."  
>With that he turned and stalked away, dragging the levitated Gorley after him like a helium balloon.<p>

She shuddered and hugged her knees more tightly.

No food or water appeared that day (night?).


	5. Chapter 5

She woke to screaming echoing off the walls.  
>It was nothing new. She barely startled and actually considered going back to sleep.<p>

There was a gnawing in her stomach and it would be easier to tolerate if she were asleep.

She cracked an eye to see who was under the wand at present and then opened her eyes in shock. It was _Draco Malfoy._  
>She struggled up, blinking and wiping at her eyes, trying to work out what was going on.<p>

Her dress was lavender crepe. She'd always hated the colour and the experiences with the girl by the same name hadn't improved her feelings toward the colour.

A single glass of water stood in the centre of her cage.  
>She pounced on it but it dissolved into air in her fingers.<p>

The screams subsided into sobbing. She looked up again at the blonde figure curled into a foetal position on the black stone floor. What had Draco done to be punished? He'd received more than just a quick reproof hex.  
>Several other younger boys stood in a line further back, shaking in their boots. Obviously the entire group had failed in some way.<p>

Her eye wandered along the row and then flicked back. She almost hadn't recognised Blaise Zabini. The Slytherin had been in Malfoy's circle since she could remember and had otherwise never been apparent in her view of Hogwarts.  
>He looked very changed. Much harder. Of the group, he looked the least frightened.<br>Determined and resigned, yes. Frightened... not so much.  
>His pale grey eyes stood out against the coffee coloured skin sharply and sharp was a word that could be applied to a lot of things about him. He looked like someone who had seen too much too young.<p>

She wondered suddenly what she looked like herself. It had been months since she had last looked in a mirror. The silvery curls of the cage were matt.

She crawled to the front of the cage and looked out through a gap, as Draco pulled himself back up onto his knees with difficulty. His face was tear-streaked as he looked up at Lord Voldemort.  
>He seemed much younger than his years and utterly miserable. Not at all like the nasty arrogant little prat she'd faced at Hogwarts for six years.<p>

"You are _worthless_! Just like your father. Voldemort hissed at him disparagingly.

"Zabini. Forward."

Draco's face, even in his discomfort became strained. "My Lord! Please! I can handle it! I'll retrieve the sword if you give me one m-" He was silenced. Voldemort didn't even bother to curse him. He simply ignored him, which seemed to be worse for Draco. The boy's head fell in horror.  
>She wondered what could be so terrible that Voldemort seemed less frightening in comparison.<p>

Blaise had stepped forward and dropped now to one knee beside Draco. His face betrayed nothing.

"You have...thoughts... on how Malfoy should have approached the problem, Zabini. Share them. Tell me why I should give your group a second chance. Why should I let you lead this assemblage of failures to potentially _worsen_ the situation? What would _you_ do any better than the streak of piss next to you?"

Hermione watched the emotions passing over Draco's face like storm clouds.  
>He was aware that his <em>life<em> hung in the balance and _still_ his pride (and fear, for some reason) was flaring over the fact that he might not be the leader. He had always been the leader in his environment, particularly over friends, such as Blaise. Having to obey Blaise would be unthinkable, apparently.  
>She felt sorry for him.<p>

Zabini spoke slowly but with purpose. "Draco did not know where to begin to search for the sword. He thought potter must have it – Dumbledore would surely have left it to him. I have used – "

Voldemort held up one hand to still him for a moment. "Draco..." he said quietly. The blond head rose hopefully.

Hermione wanted to tell him that that voice didn't promise hope. He wasn't calm – he was thinking about doing something cruel again. He had that faint anticipatory expression. Don't trust it!

"Perhaps you might be interested to know that the mudblood in the cage is feeling sorry for you. She..._pities_... you" Voldemort said softly, almost understandingly. Draco's eyes burned suddenly and his face twisted in frustrated rage. He looked over at her with an expression of disgust and hate but remained silent. Voldemort smiled wanly.

"If you wish to go and ...thank her... for her tender concern for you... I will allow it."

Draco fairly _leapt_ up and reached her cage in half a second.  
>The Crucio was worse than she had imagined even after seeing everyone screaming and twisting under it.<br>She heard _herself_ screaming as if from far away; she was simply unable to prevent her body from writhing and fighting and clenching in agony. It felt worse than anything she'd ever experienced.

As if her nerves were being dissected with white hot scalpels... as if her muscles were being flayed layer by layer, tightened on a rack.

Her internal organs seemed to be boiling... tearing... her _eyeballs_ were on fire... were full of needles... everything hurt.  
><em>Everything<em> hurt.  
>She wanted it to stop.<p>

Anything for it to stop.

Anything, anything, just stop!

It went on forever.

She thought she must die soon. The body couldn't possibly sustain this much pain.

But it went on and on.

"Enough." Voldemort's cold voice was like a balm from heaven. Draco reluctantly ended the curse a second later.  
>The pain didn't stop though. Everything <em>ached<em>.  
>Her muscles burned and she couldn't stop herself from sobbing helplessly and clutching at herself, trying to stop the horrible nauseating ache in her abdomen.<p>

And she was thirsty. So thirsty!

At least when Voldemort ignored her completely, she generally received water once a day and she wasn't cruciated.

Voldemort must have indicated for Blaise to go on because the boy continued speaking. He knew how to find the sword. She stopped listening. Didn't care any longer. She tried to go to sleep but it hurt too much. Blaise finished speaking and Voldemort placed him in charge and some time afterward, after he'd tossed a few insulting remarks at Draco and the others, he sent them off.

She didn't move. Didn't even bother trying to open her eyes. Everything should just stay perfectly still and then eventually the pain would stop.

She had seen Draco get up again and kneel. Professor Snape too. Quite a lot of people suffered a cruciatus and then a few minutes later they were at least capable of dragging themselves up to some extent.  
>But it hurt! She would just stay exactly as she was until it stopped.<p>

The click of the cage door startled her and the flinch made all her muscles protest again anew and started a new chain reaction of burning and aching.

"You provoked me to do that" the strange light voice informed her.  
>She disagreed vehemently but didn't care in the slightest right now. If she didn't do anything now then maybe he'd go away and she could just wait for this sensation to stop.<p>

A hand on her upper arm made her whimper and try to shy away, and then yelp in pain.

"Shhhh... shhhh..."

The hand withdrew and then she felt herself levitated.  
>The pressure of the ground against half her body dropped away and the muscles beneath pricked painfully in sharp pins and needles as they ached. It only made her try to clamp tighter into a foetal position, which in turn only made everything ache and burn again. She tried to remain still.<p>

Nothing seemed to happen for a while. She wondered whether Voldemort had gone – left her levitating in her cage to recover and gingerly cracked her eyes.

She was in his bedroom.  
>She hovered a few inches over the bed.<br>Her heart sank.

Oh god... no... Please no. Don't... no... If he wanted to have sex now... while the slightest move was painful... If he tried to _touch her_... she couldn't! Just thinking about it made everything hurt more in response.

He wasn't within her field of vision. She closed her eyes again and _prayed_ that he wouldn't do anything. She'd never believed in any religion. It seemed a bit unnecessary and illogical – but if there _should_ happen to be any higher power looking over things – she begged it to help her.

"Drink this" the high breathy voice instructed from behind her, making her flinch.

She hated it when he was behind her and she couldn't see his expression or posture.

A hand entered her field of vision when she opened her eyes, holding a short diamond shaped phial of purple fluid. When she didn't move, the snow white hand placed the glass lip of the little bottle to her lips and slowly tipped it.  
>She was so thirsty that she drank it greedily, not even caring what it was. It was wet.<br>It tasted like chalk and left sediment in her mouth.

"Swallow everything" Voldemort ordered in a non-negotiable manner.  
>She tried.<br>She felt even thirstier now.

The hand returned holding a tall glass of icy water. The outside of the glass was sweating little pearls of liquid. She looked at it longingly and tentatively unwrapped one hand, whimpering and trying to reach for the glass. She _needed _water.  
>A straw materialised in the glass and it came closer. She sucked on it frantically.<p>

"Slowly" he admonished.

She felt his other hand stroke over her hair gently. It felt almost proprietorial.  
>She couldn't drink slower - she was still so thirsty. It was like a breath of air after coming up from underwater.<p>

"_Slowly!" _ He commanded more sharply.

When she didn't obey he pulled the glass away.  
>She winced, gasping for air, and tried to reach for it again. "Please..." she begged.<br>Fingertips stroked her face lightly. "No. Breathe. I will allow you to have some more soon."  
>She watched agonised as the condensation coated glass, still as full as when it had been first lowered, was raised and left her view.<p>

The aching sensation had diminished slightly.

Voldemort walked around the bed and sat down facing away from her. She looked at the back of the pale smooth head. The black robes he wore today had a faint pattern in the weave.  
>She hadn't noticed. She hadn't been looking at him today.<p>

"No. You were watching the Malfoy whelp" he said coldly.

She frowned slightly and whispered hoarsely "His screams woke me up! It was hard to ignore. I haven't seen him in months. I wasn't...thinking he was handsome or anything. He just looked so miserable...and afraid"

He tilted his head and she had the feeling that he might be rolling his eyes.

"I am fully aware of what you were thinking."

He lowered his head and sighed slightly and then turned, climbing onto the bed properly and dragging himself up to lean against the headboard, one knee raised.  
>He looked at her and tilted his head. She wasn't sure what mood he was in. His expression was not familiar.<br>He curled his fingers slowly and she floated closer to him.

When she hung in the air inches away from him, he stroked her head again.  
>"I rather like your hair..." he said distractedly. "Particularly in thick coils like this." he wound his long slender fingers in the ringlets. After a moment he added, looking slightly perturbed "perhaps I should not have allowed Draco to curse you. "<br>She felt a strange sensation flicker through her mind, like a breeze. It abated again, nothing seemed to have happened.

"How do you feel now?" he asked softly and almost sounded like he cared.  
>"A little better." she offered uneasily.<br>"Good. I will lower you to the bed carefully. Relax"

The mattress brushed against her and then pressed harder, setting off a faint ache. After a while it subsided somewhat. His fingers returned to her curls and toyed again.  
>She licked her lips slightly and wondered whether he was in a good enough mood for her to risk asking for the water again.<p>

Apparently so – Since he summoned it and lengthened the straw, lowering the glass until the straw could reach her.

"Slowly this time" he said in a warning voice.

She sucked at the straw as soon as he put it to her lips and closed her eyes, urgently needing more and trying to drink slowly so that he wouldn't take it away again.

"You'll throw it up if you drink too quickly... and if that happens - the potion, which you have diluted by mixing it with so much water, will be gone too and your pain will take much longer to fade."

She nodded thirstily. Her stomach was telling her that she was full but her throat was parched.  
>The straw was removed and she opened her eyes and looked for it longingly.<p>

Crimson eyes frowned at her reprovingly. "You have had enough now."  
>He placed the glass on the bedside table and then turned and lowered himself, till he could lie level with her and turn his face toward hers. She looked back at the flat serpentine face warily.<br>It was another strange expression he wore. She hadn't seen it on him in the great hall before.

He moved closer still and then he carefully put an arm over her.

Fear flared up like a lighted match thrown onto dry straw. No. Don't! He couldn't want...that... now, surely? He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheekbone, his hand stroking over the lavender crepe of the dress on her back. "You would _deny_ me?" He murmured low.

She panicked.  
>He did! He wanted <em>that<em>. Now!

"please.." she whispered. "Please don't!"

The pale face twisted into a faint smirk. "You beg so prettily my dear. Soon enough you will be begging me to take you again. Pleading with me to put out the fire inside." His hand swept her curls back from her face and he half sighed.  
>"I find myself...<em>possessive<em>... of you... of your mind. Your..._attention_... Today you did not look at me." The crimson eyes narrowed but it didn't seem he was exactly angry at _her...  
><em>"Your heart wept for that useless spoiled little creature. I...missed the weight of your eyes... the strange little preoccupations of your mind. You slept most of the day."  
>"Perhaps I was particularly harsh toward the younger Malfoy purely in order to wake you."<p>

Hermione tried to stay perfectly still. This was insane. Lord Voldemort did not do or not do things because he wanted the attention of a mudblood. That was just a ridiculous thought.

He kissed her suddenly, his tongue forcing her lips to part and delving into her mouth. He tasted of apple, incongruently enough.  
>She responded, moving her timid tongue against his, wondering when he ate. She had never seen him eat or drink <em>anything. <em>And _Apple?_.. It was a fresh, crisp taste. She was hungry.  
>Her stomach ached sharply, growling and she felt him smile through the kiss.<br>She wouldn't have put it past him to have eaten _purely_ to be cruel.

He drew back and frowned.  
>"I eat."<br>He kissed her again lingeringly and murmured against her lips "and drink..."  
>He brushed his face along hers and whispered next to her ear "I sleep..."<br>"I do not do any of these things _purely_ to torture you, Hermione."

She felt his hand steal to the top of her back and then the sound of the zip being drawn down was loud.

"Say my name." he commanded softly, his lips moving feathery light against her ear. "I want to hear it carried on your voice."

She bit her lip. She didn't want to. She couldn't say it to him. She could say it in the Gryffindor common room when everyone else was pale and muttering about you know who...  
>but it was like whistling when you pass a graveyard.<br>It was very different when you were alone.  
>Inside the locked gates.<br>At three in the morning.  
>And there were sounds of stone gritting against stone all around.<p>

The lips whispered again, low and teasing. "You cannot say it?"

She swallowed and tried. "L... Lo.." her voice faded away to nothing as the fear stole it.

The zip had stopped and his fingers slid into her opened dress to stroke silkily up and down her back.

"If you cannot say my name... what will you responds when you are asked to whom you belong?"

Something inside clenched at that. She _didn't_ belong to him! Harry would come. He would save her!  
>Unexpectedly this defiant little thought didn't draw the immediate punishment she had expected. Voldemort snorted, amused.<p>

"He will come. Eventually." He conceded.  
>"Nevertheless... you are mine. You will <em>always<em> be mine now. Until I free you from this world."  
>And really... why would you <em>wish<em> Harry to save you from me?"  
>He does not want you. Has never even <em>seen<em> you."  
>None of them have – they have seen only a bookish little swot with bushy hair who can assist them to pass their classes."<p>

"When he comes, he will be coming for _me_, not to save _you. _He has already accepted your loss." "Believe me - I _feel_ his mind; his heart."  
>"Oh...You are <em>mourned<em>. Mourned as one who is already dead."

"He is not planning your rescue, Hermione. He is planning a daring attack to kill me so that he might return home, banishing the responsibility of the wizarding world's fate from his mind and settle down with that insipid little Weasley girl."  
>"He desires only to have an undemanding, mundane life and a house full of squalling brats."<p>

"Even if he _managed_, through some strange twist of fate, to rescue you – he would drift away from you. You would remind him too much of his guilt... guilt for leaving you here. Abandoning you. Not even _attempting_ to rescue you before it was too late."  
>"Six months you sat, unharmed and waiting; hoping..."<p>

"Do you know – _he_ hoped you were dead, Hermione. He considered it a mercy that you were muggleborn – imagining you might have been killed quickly. He _dreams_ and _longs_ for Ginevra."

Hermione closed her eyes in misery. Cruel. He was so cruel. Why did he have to...?  
>The thin lips pressed against her own again and persisted until she gave up and kissed back.<p>

He drew away again, slowly and his voice was soft and seductive.

"But _I_ want you, Hermione. I have selected _you_ over every witch in the wizarding world."

"Have you any idea of the honour I have bestowed upon you? I _desire_ you. I am willing to _teach_ you. I have taken you for my own."

She felt a traitorous little worm of temptation twist in her gut. 'He is a liar. Remember what a good liar he is. He said only yesterday that he was going to kill me. All of this is just to hurt Harry. All of this. And if it wasn't. Its monstrous. He is _evil. _ He just said two minutes ago that he cruciated Draco just to wake me up. There are no words for this.'

The strange face looked at her with anger that twisted almost immediately into something like frustration.

"Do you imagine that if I curse you now, I shall not take you again? That you will be returned to your cage? Killed perhaps? Is that the purpose behind this provocation?"

The hand on her back slid up and fisted itself into her hair and he kissed her hard, bruising her mouth as he forced her to yield. He didn't let her go this time. A tingle of magic vanished the lavender gown and he forced her down onto her back, his silky robe cool against her skin.  
>She yelped into his mouth as her body protested the movement, the partial compression.<p>

He didn't pause for a moment and a hand slid down her body, cupping her ribs and delving into the small of her back to hold her, just above the swell of her buttocks. She didn't even struggle.  
><em>Couldn't<em> even struggle. It hurt to try to move.  
>It hurt to be touched. It hurt to lie still but it <em>had<em> been almost tolerable when she was lying on her side and he wasn't touching her too much.  
>Hot tears slipped out of the corner of her eyes.<p>

"Mmmm" he growled, sucking on her tongue and then he pulled back to look down at her appraisingly.  
>"You really should apply yourself more diligently to learning how to please me, my dear. You would not be in this pain if you had not behaved in an intolerable manner. I might be more...delicate... with you right now if you had not spat my generosity back at me."<p>

He lifted his hand beneath her slightly and she cried out in pain. Lifting there caused a large number of muscles to protest urgently, cramping and pulling.

"Please! _Please..." _she choked out.

He smirked.

"My name, Hermione..."

"Please! _ Lord !" _she wailed. In her mind she screamed 'stop! Stop... it hurts... please stop.'

The planar face smiled, satisfied and lowered her the perhaps two inches that made the difference between tolerable and intolerable pain.

"Better... Now... to _whom_ do you belong?"

She bit her tongue. The fingers on her lower back stroked meaningfully.

"I assure you - that pain was nothing in comparison to what you will feel if I hang you by your wrists now.."

She blinked away the tears and whispered "you. I belong to you."

He smiled approvingly.  
>"And what would you say if it were <em>another<em> asking that question?"

She grit her teeth.  
>"I...belong to...to...<em>L-Lord Voldemort" <em>she ground out.  
>He kissed the corner of her mouth gently.<p>

"Very good, Hermione! I _know_ how difficult that was for you, in light of your errant..._views_... I believe I _may_ reward you for your effort if you are able to say it again - without gritting your teeth."

She sighed and said it quietly, tonelessly. She'd already said it once. What difference did it make now?  
>It seemed to be enough. His expression was that of subdued triumph.<br>The hand at her back shifted and he hissed something in parsel, his eyes narrowing nastily.  
>She screamed as it seemed like he'd lit her back on fire.<br>The hand at the base of her spine seemed to be sending crackling jolts into her. Was this the reward?

"Yesss" he hissed softly, bending his head to kiss along her jaw. "A reward... I think we shall _both_ find it... rewarding..." He kissed down to her neck and then trailed his tongue down it. She shivered helplessly and it made all her muscles twinge again. But it was _different_ now. It hurt. It hurt a lot. But for some reason now it also felt kind of...good... when it hurt.

She moved experimentally. The muscles in her abdomen and lower back twanged in sudden pain and she gasped because it felt... it felt...

"Mmmm... I see you've determined the purpose of that particular spell." He murmured against her neck and bit her sharply.  
>She moaned, cutting herself off and biting her lips in horror. The chest above her shook slightly in quiet laughter.<p>

"Be a good girl, and perhaps I might whip you..." He whispered and nipped her earlobe.

She tried to lie still. If she moved, she'd feel it again and...It wasn't good.  
>Well. It... kind of <em>was<em> good but it wasn't good to find it good.  
>This wasn't a good thing.<br>He might curse her again just to use the spell.  
>He was nibbling his way down the side of her neck, gently... almost patiently. As if he knew how hard she was finding it to ignore the arousing sensation and wanted to see how long she would hold out.<p>

As it turned out – not very long.

When he started to lick her breasts, she twitched and that set off a whole chain reaction of sharp delicious twinges through her muscles till she was panting and writhing in excitement. She was dimly aware of his dark delight as he watched her groan and stimulate herself with little bucking movements, arching her back.

God... it was so...good. Like... scratching an itch in some sick way. She needed more! It wasn't enough. She was moving more, to make the frissons of painful pleasure stronger but she needed... more...

"Beg." he instructed coldly. "You know what you want. I _may_ give it to you if you beg nicely."

She whined in the back of her throat and whispered. "Please."

He snorted. "You call that begging? You can do better than that."

She curled and then stretched her legs, groaning as the amazing sensation seemed to make her pussy ache... her spine tingle...  
>"Please..." what did he want? He wanted his name before. Fine. Whatever. Just more! He <em>liked<em> hurting people. It wasn't as if it was going out of his way to just hurt her a little.  
>"Please... Lord Voldemort"<p>

"My Lord" he corrected her smoothly.  
>It constituted another little step in the direction she did not want to go but she was frustrated and needy and just in this particular second she didn't bloody care.<p>

"My Lord then! Please!"

He looked undecided whether to credit her grudging use of the term. Leaning down he pressed her body flat with his own clothed one and held her still.  
>She growled in frustration, trying to move.<p>

"Attitude, mudblood. Never for a moment forget that I can deliver more suffering than your mind...or body... can handle."  
>"Now... shall we try that appellation again?"<p>

She huffed frustrated. "I don't _want_ to call you that. I'm not a death eater. I don't want to be one."

He snarled slightly. "And yet you _will_ do so, because I demand it."

She scowled and clenched her eyes shut. "_My Lord" _she said unhappily.  
>He made her repeat it. And then repeat it again. She was commanded to say it so often that the words started to lose all meaning, becoming simply sounds. She must have eventually satisfied whatever inflection he was looking for because his weight was removed without warning and then pain seared her entire body. She yowled and gasped ecstatically and then it became so much greater as her wrists were snapped together with some kind of spell, bound with a thin painful cord (some variant of the incarcerous) and dragged up, pulling her after them till she was hanging by them, kneeling in the centre of the bed.<br>Her head fell back in excited overstimulation and she looked up at the cord binding her to the metal loop in the crossbeams of the bed.  
>It <em>did <em>evoke so much more pain to be in this position. He hadn't lied earlier.  
>She panted and writhed against the binding that was just slightly too tight... too high... stretching her and straining her muscles so satisfyingly.<p>

"Beautiful..." he pronounced softly, from somewhere behind her. She tried to turn and gave up, bucking excitedly at the pain it caused. "Would you like to be whipped?" he enquired in a generous tone, as if offering her a particular treat.

She nodded slowly, realising she would.

Surreal. She could have sworn she would never actually find herself asking Lord Voldemort to whip her – _wanting_ him to.  
>His silence demanded the correct response.<p>

"Yes... please... My Lord" she hushed out circling her hips for the amazing feeling it caused in her back.

He was suddenly pressed close behind her; his cheek against her own and his hand sliding down to tease her. She moaned wantonly, loving it against her own will. He turned his head and bit her earlobe sharply, growling and it only made her wriggle on his fingers even more yelping in pleasure. A moment later he melted away again behind her, trailing damp fingers over her skin as he withdrew.

"Very well...my lovely debauched pet. I will give you what you need."

There was a slithery sound and then he leaned forward and held a coiled leather horsewhip out in front of her so that she could see it. He let the loops fall, holding the handle and it made a leathery slithery sound as it uncoiled onto the bed, like the one she'd heard.

She shivered in anticipation.

How much would it hurt? Was it possible for something to hurt too much right now?

"Difficult to say. I believe not. This is a very dangerous spell. Salazar experimented with it extensively. Left to their own devices, those affected not infrequently ended up accidentally injuring themselves severely - some even killing themselves."  
>"That will not happen to you. <em>I<em> will determine the pain you shall receive."

There was a whistle, a crack and then a bright incandescent lightning bolt of pain lanced up her back. She cried out in shock.  
>It burned a moment later and she groaned and writhed, trying to rub her thighs together to get friction where she needed it.<br>Another crack sounded and her arousal ramped up even higher. By the fifth one she was crying out in desperate lust and begging him to touch her.  
>He ignored it.<p>

Searing slice after slice struck her in quick succession. She could barely breathe for the sensation and the blinding urgent need.  
>She needed him to take her. She needed him inside her.<br>How? How to get him to stop... how to get him to come close and take her how she wanted to be taken.  
>She scrambled through her lust addled mind for the words that he might like.<p>

He angled the next blow and the tongue of the whip licked around the side of her hip, catching the sensitive skin. She gasped and tried to grind against air, ineffectually. Struggling at the bindings was no use. The next stroke wrapped itself around her thigh, cutting into the sensitive flesh on the inside.

"Master! I need you... please..." she wailed desperately.

The next blow did not come.  
>She whined aloud, her body was tingling and sucking in aching need.<p>

"What do you need, Hermione" the voice was close. He was right behind her.

"I...I need you _inside_ me... please...My Lord" she managed and tried to press herself back against him. She couldn't reach him or he moved away.

"Is that so..." he said softly.  
>She yowled her assent, winding her hips and parting her thighs. If he could only...touch her... and then he <em>did<em>. A hot hard naked form pressed up against her back. She cried out in relief.

"Yes! Please My Lord! _Now! _ Need you... oh god..._PLEASE_..."

His breath was hot against her neck as his hands slid around her. Fingernails scraping down her flesh deliciously as he reached down toward her thighs, gliding inward. Then, gripping her roughly he gapped her thighs further apart and lifted her slightly.  
>She eagerly complied with his rough guiding hands and arched her back, pushing herself against him. A moment later he drove up and into her, spearing her and bottoming out in a painful wonderful way.<br>She screamed in something that was both relief and heightened need, her hands above her head gripping the cords as her head fell back. His hands were on her hips and he was moving in her brutally and it was the best thing ever.  
>She moved her hips in counterpoint, driving herself back onto him as far as she was able in her unbalanced position. He leaned forward and hissed next to her ear and she shuddered all over. Yes... she found she really did like that sound. It was so different to the few times she'd heard Harry do it. With Voldemort it sounded smooth, silky, dangerous and...Yes... sexy. It sounded bloody sexy when he spoke in parseltongue.<p>

He lifted her and pulled her back, tilting her and holding her in place till she wrapped her legs around him. The tension in her muscles felt like tense vibrating strings.  
>His movements slowed and became languid as he supported her there with only one hand, the other stroking lightly up her spine. "Lovely..." he murmured huskily.<p>

"Harder" she whimpered at his slow smooth movements.

"You require more pain?" his voice was full of dark lust.

"YES!" she whined. "Please! Please don't stop! I need... more!"

His quick breaths caught for a moment and then he leaned in and licked a hot path up the side of her neck. She moaned low and rocked her hips against him. "Very well" he whispered by her ear.

The hand at her back suddenly became so cold it burned sharply. She could _feel_ it leaving raised weals in its wake and squealed and jerked at the satisfying feeling. it seemed to soothe the fire in her slightly even as it tingled pleasurably.  
>"God...thats so good" she mumbled, her eyes closed in bliss as he moved in her harder again, his fingers stroking over her skin, trailing over her stretched abdomen, up and over her breasts.<br>When he pinched them with burning freezing fingers she screamed and felt herself tipping over unexpectedly into release. His low groan seemed to only increase the pleasure. She felt him still moving in her slowly as she spasmed.  
>He only waited, circling his hips and sliding in and out languorously, until her excited cries stilled, before he resumed taking her harder in short staccato slams, that stabbed her deep inside.<p>

Against her expectation the boneless inertia that had overcome her was forced aside as he pushed her to excited need again; tipped her only minutes later over the edge again with deep plunging strokes. She collapsed down onto the bed as the cords binding her wrists were abruptly vanished.

This angle seemed to give him even greater leverage to slam into her as her face lay down against the mattress. He leaned over her and drove her forward with the force of his thrusts.  
>She could hear him panting softly and curled around to peer over her shoulder.<br>His eyes were half lidded and he had an expression of intense satisfaction on his face. He looked...strangely appealing. His abdominal muscles were tight and bunched and the pale skin shimmered with a sheen of moisture.

As if he heard her thought – which he probably _had_ – he stopped in his movements and withdrew, pushing her over till she lay on her back and then falling upon her like a hungry animal.  
>He slotted back into her body automatically and curled his arms around her, one beneath her neck and the other in the small of her back.<p>

When he kissed her she responded immediately, kissing him back hungrily, wrapping her arms and legs around him and moving against him. "Mmmm" he growled into her mouth, and it managed to convey that he was pleased with her.

She broke away panting and mindless in the face of the sensations her body was reporting and only dimly registered the word he breathed almost tenderly against her throat because it had taken on a visceral importance in her hindbrain.

"_Crucio..." _

The pain was unreal! She screamed and peaked so hard that she blacked out for a moment. It was as if the volume on her pleasure had been turned up to sonic boom levels.

When she returned to herself he was kissing along her jaw gently and pressed a soft breathless kiss to her swollen lips.  
>He had finished. He was still inside her and she could feel the hard bar of him softening slowly.<br>But even without that sensation, it was just as clear in the relaxation of the normally tense line of his body above her.  
>She continued to catch her breath and curled around him again. The pain of moving was still arousing but now she was exhausted and it was terrible to feel her body tingling back into response helplessly.<p>

A hand stroked her hair away from her face. "If I remove it, you will be in greater pain than you were before. I do not know if you can withstand that at present."

She looked up into glimmering red garnets that shifted, examining her speculatively. She had no idea what she wanted. She was just...tired... It didn't make any sense to speculate. He would do whatever he liked. He probably knew best at this point anyway.  
>She had no idea how this spell worked and little experience with cruciatus after-effects.<br>Internally she gave herself up to his will.

A slow lazy smile broke out on the pale flattened face. "Finally you are displaying the correct attitude, Hermione." He murmured against her cheek.

He withdrew with effortless strength she herself did not feel at present and moved off gracefully, still naked, toward the bookcases.  
>She thought he was going to retrieve a tome by hand for her at first but as he drew near he waved a hand and the bookcase slid forward and to the side, revealing what seemed to be a small store room. He strode in and turned a sharp right angle disappearing around a corner.<p>

There were a few soft clinks and then he was returning. He had another purple phial in his white slender-fingered hand.

She could not help but look at his body, take in the entire view of Lord Voldemort, unashamedly naked and, with the exception of his facial features and general hairlessness, beautifully formed.  
>His thighs were long, the lean hard muscle clearly defined.<br>Halfway back to the bed he stopped in place, smirking and turned on the spot, as if displaying himself for her viewing pleasure.

She hadn't really had the opportunity to study him from behind, she realised. He was...peculiarly... more attractive from this side. One could forget the unsettling aspects of his face.  
>His back was broad and the entire visage from head to toe was toned and taut. ...he...he had quite a nice backside, she conceded. If you were into that kind of thing... mens bum's and all.<br>He turned back again and walked back to the bed, still wearing the small pleased smirk.

Sitting down beside her he stroked a fingertip down her body, noting her helpless reaction and the quickening of her breath.

"Captivating... I am exceedingly pleased with you, Hermione. For that reason I _will_ reward you."

He removed the tiny glass stopper in the phial and brought it to her lips, tilting it when she was ready. She swallowed the chalky sour mouthful eagerly, as if it were mother's milk.  
>His fingers stroked her face again lightly.<br>"Please could I have some water" she asked hopefully. He had allowed her to have water last time she had been given the potion.

He seemed to consider it and then shook his head slowly. "No. This time I wish you to absorb the potion undiluted, my dear. Don't fret. You will not be awake to feel thirst, and I will have the house-elves hydrate you in an hour or so. You will be refreshed when you wake."

She accepted this without demur. Sleep would be good. He was ...kind... to let her sleep now...so that she wouldn't feel that horrible aching pain again.  
>"Thank you... My Lord" she said solemnly.<p>

He smiled again and leaned over her, kissing her lips gently. She felt his hand brush her forehead and then sleep descended like a thick velvet blanket.


	6. Chapter 6

She woke on the hard metal floor of the cage, disorientated.

She had been dreaming about Harry. He was calling her name.

The events of the last night (at least.. she assumed it was last night) rolled back through her mind with terrible clarity.

Malfoy had cursed her. Pain... horrible unbearable pain... and then Voldemort had fucked her again with some kind of spell that made the pain feel arousing.  
>She'd...she'd called him her Lord.<p>

God. She'd betrayed everyone. It was one thing to give up and let the Dark Lord sleep with her since he was more than willing to torture people for a _thought_ he disliked... but it was something else to use _that_ phrase.  
>Hell... she'd called him <em>master<em> at some point, hadn't she?

She moved experimentally and was relieved to discover it didn't hurt at all. The potion was obviously more effective if it wasn't diluted. She wondered absently whether he'd let her dilute it because he intended to use the spell on her...or perhaps because he found it useful to have her pain as leverage to force her to say his name.  
>He'd moved her effectively from avoiding any version of address for him to referring to him as his bloody death eaters did.<p>

She sat up gingerly and noted that she was wearing a white dress. She'd never been dressed in white before. It was a soft satin thing that reached her mid thighs. A simple cut, almost reminiscent of lingerie; with a sweetheart neckline and a high waist, flaring out at the bottom.  
>She tugged it down ineffectually. It was cold. It seemed she had been dressed in matching satin panties today. That was something at least. Usually the elves didn't bother with underwear.<p>

Looking around the empty room she wondered what had woken her. There had been something. A noise... or... she wasn't sure.  
>An area of space shimmered suddenly next to the cage, the background behind it wavering as if in a heat haze.<br>She jerked back as if stung, crawling frantically to the other side of the cage.

Someone was here!

That spell was very distinctive. Someone was disillusioned and standing there watching her and they had just moved slightly.

"Shhhhh" a disembodied voice cautioned her.

"Who are you?" she whispered at it, her mind racing through the possibilities. She refused to consider any of the ones she wanted most.  
>It wasn't Harry. Harry wouldn't be disillusioned for a start – he had an invisibility cloak that was far more effective and if he <em>was <em>here, he'd be looking for Voldemort and not her.

She felt a silencing spell settle over her and then the door clicked softly. The blurry heat haze in the air moved, pulling it open as she started to panic. Whoever it was hadn't identified themselves and they didn't want her alerting anyone she was here – they obviously didn't trust her to remain silent if she knew who they were. This wasn't good.

The shimmer moved to the open door and she felt some kind of invisible bonds latch on around her wrists and begin tugging her toward the opening. Screaming wasn't going to help but she struggled all the way as she was pulled out of the cage with distressing inevitability.

The tall figure backed off as she reached the door and continued to pull her, fighting, away from the cage, till she was clear of it by a couple of metres.  
>It started to approach her then and she backed off rapidly. She didn't know who this was. It could be a death eater! She couldn't really see who it could be <em>but <em>a death eater.

Where was Voldemort, she demanded internally. He said he would protect her. He said-...

The figure moved more quickly and grabbed her around the arm, dragging her back. She fought, scratching at the invisible hand and collected a slap across the face for it. "Cut it out" a familiar voice growled.  
>Gasping silently in shock she realised who her assailant (rescuer?) was.<br>Unexpectedly then, the tall figure swore under its breath and shimmered into view.

Professor Snape's expression was that of a man carrying a shipment of narcotics who had just been pulled over by the police. "Good evening, My Lord" he muttered.

She jolted and looked around in surprise. The Dark Lord was lounging on his throne as if he had been there for some time. She wondered whether he had. He might have been under a notice me not or something, she supposed.

"I must say..I am.. disappointed.. Severus. I had hoped my suspicions were unfounded. Do not further insult me with fabricated excuses. On your knees, if you wish to continue breathing."

Hermione looked up at the black eyes feeling torn. He had probably been trying to rescue her. If she hadn't fought, would she be in Order headquarters by now?  
>Now professor Snape was in<em> deep<em> trouble. He would probably be killed, no matter what Voldemort seemed to imply regarding his cooperation.  
>His eyes showed that he knew it too.<br>He hesitated for a half second and then dragged her, off balance, against him, spinning and placing his wand to her neck.

Fuck.  
>That wasn't what she had expected.<br>She gulped. Professor Snape wouldn't .._actually_.. harm her.. surely?

Lord Voldemort was on his feet and his face was like thunder, the red eyes almost glowing with rage.

"Lower.. the wards.." professor Snape demanded in a low threatening voice.

Voldemort's eyes flicked between Snape's and her own face. "You imagine that threatening the life of a Mudblood will save you?" He hissed icily, gliding closer.

Professor Snape moved his wand a bare inch and Hermione felt a sharp cold sensation slice the skin of her neck, followed by a warm liquid spill in a trail downward.

Voldemort's hiss sounded like the parseltongue equivalent of swearing.

"Yes..." professor Snape responded with a faint smug tone in his voice. "It appears that you do not wish the life of a...muggleborn...threatened. Release us or we both die."

Hermione frowned. She realised suddenly that there was a part of her that didn't actually want to be rescued – didn't want to go back to the order, to her supposed friends.  
>There was a part of her that wanted to stay here with the interesting psychopath who had offered to teach her dark magic and had forced her to feel pleasure beyond anything she had ever experienced before.<br>That small part of her was considering whether she might be able to drive her fist back into professor Snape's balls and get away.

She watched as a slow pleased smirk spread over the Dark Lord's serpentine face even as he raised his pale twisted yew wand at them both.  
>"Then you both die" he pronounced softly.<p>

That was sufficient motivation. Her fist moved almost of its own accord and the choked whimper that the large man behind her emitted as she twisted out of his grip was testament to how little he had expected her to strike out at him.  
>She practically flew to Voldemort and was immediately enfolded in the arm that did not hold a wand on Professor Snape. "Good girl" he commended her softly and pressed a kiss to her forehead.<p>

She glanced over her shoulder at the appalled incredulous expression on the potion master's face. Revulsion was plainly visible. She turned her face back to the Dark Lord feeling wretchedly guilty and sick at her own actions. His eyes glinted warningly at her and then he looked back toward professor Snape.

"As you see, Severus – she will neither leave nor die. She is _mine._ _You_ however wi-"

Professor Snape interrupted him "Hermione Granger would never willingly join you. She is neither foolish nor corrupt enough to succumb to your lures. Do not give up, Miss Granger. Potter _will_ come. The Dark Lord _will_ be defeated. I ...regret...that I waited so long to try to remove you from this place."

She didn't turn, couldn't face him after what she'd done. He'd..._see_ it...in her eyes if she looked at him now.

"I see that I am no longer _your Lord_, Severus... if indeed I ever was." Lord Voldemort said coldly.  
>"It matters not. You shall give up all your secrets in time..."<p>

There was a sound of scrabbling and then professor Snape cried out in frustrated despair. Voldemort lifted his hand briefly from her back and when he replaced it, she could feel it was holding professor Snape's wand. He pulled her closer and stroked down her back absently with the wand.  
>She looked up to his face and saw the smug triumphant expression as he was about to speak transform suddenly into a dismayed, furious one, even as there was a thump behind her.<p>

"NO!" he cried angrily, releasing her and dashing to the side of the man now collapsed on the floor twitching. "No! You shan't escape me that easily" he muttered absently, casting spell after spell upon the obviously dying man.  
>Hermione padded over tentatively and knelt down beside professor Snape's side. He was a potions master and a double agent... of course he'd have some kind of suicide pill or something for the event that things went pear shaped. He knew too much to risk it all being discovered by Voldemort.<br>She felt a sudden burning pain of admiration for the dour potions master, who had taken all the pain and struggle in his stride... had even taken his own death as a matter of course.

Voldemort was cursing and seemed to be growing exasperated, as the spasms and shaking of the potions master's body slowly began to subside.  
>"No! DAMN HIM!" He cried and spun, stalking away, fuming.<br>She wondered whether this was her fault. If she hadn't freed herself from him and gone to Voldemort, would the Dark Lord _really_ have killed them? Might he have let them both go?  
>Had she condemned professor Snape to death by her actions?<p>

"Silence" Voldemort hissed, although she hadn't spoken aloud.

He stood, looking extremely nonplussed, his gaze upon the body that had been professor Snape.

She tried to not think. It was more difficult than ever. She'd never understood that whole 'clear your mind' rubbish that her meditation teacher had blathered on about. In the end she'd decided that people who practiced meditation and yoga were the muggle world's equivalent of professor Trelawney.  
>There was a tiny snort from the serpentine figure who was tapping his wand against his thigh irritatedly. Finally he seemed to half sigh.<p>

"What is done is done" he pronounced softly. "A foolish waste in the end. I would have _preferred_ not to kill Severus. He was so very _useful_. He would have been useful again in the future...in time. Still... it cannot be helped now. It is easier to train a new potions master than to attempt to reclaim this one _now." _

She frowned, slightly bemused. She tended to think of Lord Voldemort as anything but stupid. Professor Snape was a double agent. He was working against him.  
>This was a man who killed people who sneezed at the wrong moment and he would have spared a traitor?.<p>

"Come here" the high strange voice commanded softly.

She complied with less hesitation than she would ever have imagined possible.  
>She was drawn closer with the pale left hand that held professor Snape's long black wand.<p>

"Take it" Voldemort instructed, holding the wand to her.

Her eyes bugged and slid up to the red slitted orbs that were not looking at her. The Dark Lord was offering her a wand. The next conclusions ambled up in her mind unhesitatingly. He was confident she wouldn't use it against him. ...He knew that even with a wand... even if it happened to obey her – which it probably wouldn't - she would stand _no_ chance if she chose to try to attack him.  
>..He considered her intelligent enough to realise that and thus offered her the wand easily.<p>

She reached out and gingerly took it.

It didn't spray sparks of joy at her hand and in fact it felt heavy and dull, like an ordinary stick.

"Cast lumos" the high airy voice commanded.

She tried. The wand _did_ comply to a very minor extent. It produced a faint twinkle of blue at the very tip which petered out after a second. She found herself inexplicably proud that she'd produced _any_ magic with professor Snape's wand.

Voldemort pulled a discontented face. "Another waste then. Your wands share the same core. Severus' wand was well suited to dark curses. It would have been a desirable match...  
>...no matter."<br>He snatched the wand back and slipped it into the pocket of his robes, where it did not even cause the silky material to bulge.  
>Then he turned to her and offered a white slender hand, his head slightly tilted.<p>

She looked at it with a hollow little feeling.  
>Taking Voldemort's hand was no more than she'd done already ten times over. It just felt...different... now. Now that professor Snape was lying on the floor dead – possibly due to her.<p>

She stepped closer and placed her small hand in the larger one – the hand that was infinitely more graceful than her own. Voldemort smiled approvingly, although she thought there was a faint calculating twist to it.  
>He gestured absently at the potion master's body with his other hand and it vanished.<br>A moment later he had apparated them into his room once again.

"I was working before Severus decided to ...drop in. As I had reached a rather promising stage in my calculations, I will continue with that now."

She assured herself that she was _relieved_ that he wasn't going to sleep with her now and caught the way his smirk widened slightly.  
>"Perhaps later. For the moment I wish you to continue reading in the Montmorrei text. I will perhaps discuss it with you when my own progress allows a pause." He summoned the dark runic text and passed it to her, turning away immediately and gliding to the paper strewn desk and seating himself.<p>

She stood, surprised, the book heavy in her hands. It was a strange feeling to be allowed to be here while Lord Voldemort worked on...something...anything. To be simply invited into his presence to read by herself.  
>She wondered what he was doing. It seemed quite complex, to judge by the texts and papers around him. Perhaps something where he had to cross reference or translate? She wished she had enough courage to creep over and look.<p>

"No. Go and sit down and read your book. This material is too advanced for you. Do not distract me or you'll go back into your cage for the evening."

She jolted and turned away immediately, clutching the book to her chest and moving to the bed. She found the end of the chapter she had been up to when he had stopped her last time, stating that it was late and time for her to return to the cage.  
>He'd been a bit...cool... that night... after she'd upset him, or at least she thought she might have upset him. But still, she thought he had been pleased when she had shown that she understood the runic text. She began to read, prodding her brain into action to decipher the ancient language she hadn't had to work in much for the last year.<p>

Voldemort continued working even as she finished the text. She didn't want to bother him.  
>He looked avidly absorbed and somehow distant, as if his mind were far away.<br>It was a look she seldom saw on him in the great hall.  
>Somehow it gave the impression that his mind was some kind of vast machine with infinitely intricate cogs and springs that was whirring at breakneck speed.<br>It was...well... ok... it was just a little bit appealing. She hadn't had the opportunity to be around many truly gifted witches or wizards as they worked on their own private research.

Inspiration seemed to strike him and he bent forward again, writing furiously, the long black quill in his pale fingers almost a blur with the need to pin the thoughts down before they escaped.  
>Again, she wondered what kind of thing would fascinate Voldemort to that extent.<br>Was it something to do with beating Harry and the order?

As if she had spoken aloud his brow quirked in irritation and he waved a hand at the bookshelves, another book floating out and over toward her. It was bound in black tatty leather and looked well read. She caught it gently and opened it.  
>Although he had not spoken, or even turned, it was obvious what his comment would have been. 'Read that and stop being a distraction.' She complied willingly.<p>

The book was a compendium of dark hexes. Last year she probably wouldn't have even been willing to touch it. Almost all of the curses within were horrible. She even found the vomiting sewing needles one. Horrible or not she read it and made a valiant effort to learn.

She was finished with the second book and lying on her back staring up at the ceiling, thinking over what she'd read and trying not to be 'distracting' when he stirred. The way he sat back with a slightly troubled look on the pale flat face suggested he had reached some kind of impasse.  
>He folded one arm around himself, balancing the other upon it and stroking what would have been the bridge of his nose with the feather tip of the long quill absently.<p>

It was...peculiar... she thought. She could imagine it must be some kind of habit he picked up from his youth.  
>His eyes were distant as if he were looking through reality at whatever problem it was he was working upon.<br>The blood red eyes blinked in frustration.  
>Yes... definitely some kind of problem had cropped up in what he was working on. The curiosity was almost <em>painful. <em> She was always the one other people came to when they were stuck on something. She always figured out a solution, even if it wasn't always conventional.

Voldemort seemed to snort slightly, his face tightening. She continued to watch him, the expressions passing over his face like storm clouds. Finally he tossed down the quill in irritation and rose, turning and stalking over to the bed swiftly, his movements betraying the internal agitation he was apparently feeling.

She gasped as her clothing was abruptly vanished and then he practically fell upon her like a thing possessed. The hard warm body pressed her down and he gripped and raised one of her legs before he impaled her in one rough motion, without warning or foreplay.  
>It made her yelp, but not because it had <em>hurt<em> exactly.  
>No... It seemed she was already quite wet. Strangely enough. She hadn't even noticed.<br>She certainly hadn't been feeling aroused.  
>He fucked her hot and hard, as if working off his own frustration on her, driving her to a swift dizzying orgasm. He spilled himself with a low growl only moments after she had shattered in climax.<p>

There was no affectionate kissing or embracing tonight. After he had emptied himself, he withdrew immediately, scourgifying them both and getting up, pacing away with a dark expression in his crimson gaze.

He stopped by his desk and ran a hand over the back of the rather regal chair he employed. Then shaking his head slightly he turned back.

"I am confident that you have comprehended the Montmorrei runic work. You grasped the first half adequately. You will show me what you have retained from Scabbors compendium I think."

She frowned, confused. He gestured absently and a silky sheath materialised, enfolding his body in a new flowing robe. Turning he opened and entered the same store room she had seen him go into the last time she was in this room. When he returned he was holding something very familiar. Something that made her heart beat rapidly in longing.

"You have a rather insipid wand, you know" he observed coldly.

It was all she could do to remain where she was and not leap up and grab for it.  
>Was he <em>really<em> going to let her have it back? Or was this just a cruel tease. She wanted it back so badly. It had been _months_ since she had had access to her magic. The hunger for it was desperate.

He read it clearly on her too. "Come." He said quietly.  
>She was on her feet and standing before him in half a second, nakedness not even rating a mention on her internal system of priorities.<br>He tilted his head slightly and appeared to be considering her form. When he clothed her magically it was not in the silky white sheath she had worn before, but in a soft black lambs wool robe... not entirely unlike his own in form, albeit much simpler. It reached down to her feet and she revelled in the warmth it offered in the cold...wherever this place was...castle? manor?

He stepped closer and reached around her. She thought for a moment he was going to embrace her but then he raised his arms and lifted a generous hood up over her head. It fell deep, throwing her face into shadow.

"Prove that you are worthy of your wand, Hermione. Show me what you have learned. _Disappoint _me and you will never see it again."

While she was digesting this command slash threat he raised a hand and gripped her upper arm apparating at once.

The apparition spat them out in a dark room. Completely dark, not just shadowy and sombre like the Dark Lord's rooms. She felt a tingle of fear race up her spine briefly and then a torch lit, sputtering into life with a blue and yellow flame.

The room it exposed was almost better off unlit.

This was obviously somewhere in the dungeons of the Dark Lord's domain.  
>A selection of pitifully emaciated and beaten figures huddled near the walls, shaking. Several had started to sob, seeing who had descended into their midst.<br>The Dark Lord was scrutinising them all as if inspecting beef.

She knew exactly what he was expecting her to do to 'earn' her wand now but she wasn't sure whether she could do it. She didn't _need_ her wand. It was...wrong to do this. These people were probably just innocent victims.

"You" he selected, pointing at a man in torn rags.

He was perhaps in his late thirties and had a scraggly yellow mess of facial hair. He reminded Hermione of a castaway on an island. All wild eyes and desperation.  
>At the Dark Lord's pronouncement he burst into messy snotty tears and started begging unintelligibly. He was silenced and a moment later his eyes glazed over before he stood up robotically and faced them both.<p>

The tall serpentine man controlling him turned to her then, his eyes dark and bloody in the flickering light.  
>"Show me the spells.. Show me what you have learned. Refuse and I shall snap your wand."<p>

She swallowed in visceral aversion at the idea of her wand being snapped. It was horrible. The worst thing you could do. Worse than breaking her bones.  
>She looked back at the man standing zombie-like at attention. He seemed as content as could be, as if he weren't about to be cursed seven ways from Sunday.<p>

The Dark Lord offered her her wand. It was a caramel brown streak on his snow white palm. She took it carefully and the warm rush of energy that shot up her arm thrilled her.  
>It was happy to see her too.<p>

The Dark Lord had stepped away but she could _feel_ the weight of his eyes examining her, judging her...almost _grading_ her. She stood in the centre of the room and tried to force her stomach to stop revolving at the thought of cursing some unknown man with the most horrible curses she knew.

Shaking, she raised her wand...


	7. Chapter 7

It was many hours later that she sat in her cage once again reflecting somewhat erratically on the events of the night.

She kept coming back to the Muggle Christian notion of the devil and damnation and how the former would bring one to the latter by a process of temptations and small trials.  
>She felt like someone who had tripped over the precipice and was falling down toward the fiery pit.<p>

The screams...  
>They still echoed in her ears.<br>That man hadn't done _anything_ to deserve the pain and suffering she'd brought him.  
>She thought he might have even been a muggle. ..The <em>panic..<em>he'd been in.

She hadn't _wanted _to. But she couldn't let her wand be snapped. It was her _wand. _It was all she really had left!  
>She should have let him snap it. She hadn't used it in.. however many months she'd been here..<p>

The expression on the rotted, ruined face as she'd cast the pliatha-croris hex – page forty two of the spell compendium - and the man had been forced to..._expel_..frozen shards of his own urine..  
>There had been <em>blood. <em>A _lot_ of it!The book hadn't mentioned there would be but she supposed it was only logical.  
>He'd screamed so much that her ears had hurt.<p>

She'd.. _silenced_ him..

Her fingers picked compulsively at the hem of the wretched red silk dress Voldemort had transfigured from her robes before he locked her away again.

He had been pleased.  
>Pleased with the hex... and even more with her blithe silencing of the man.<p>

She'd remembered all the hexes. The temptation to lie and say she couldn't remember any more had been there but it was very hard to lie to someone who could hear your thoughts.

Most of the spells' effects had been horrible.. she'd wanted to be sick.

She'd ...killed... the poor man in the end. She hadn't meant to. The praevextra hex had thickened his blood to the consistency of porridge and he'd just slumped like a dropped marionette.  
>She should have realised that the hex would be deadly. After all... the heart... the brain... but she'd just been going through the hexes one after another and by the time she got to it she hadn't really thought about it.<br>Voldemort had been over the bloody moon.

And afterward he'd taken her back to his room and they'd had sex again... or rather... he'd fucked her, she supposed. He'd made her come three times... made her scream in pleasure. It had felt...so...good. Why did it feel so good? It shouldn't feel like that. He was evil.

It was so wrong. Everything was so wrong.  
>She had <em>killed<em> someone so that she could keep her stupid wand and continue to learn dark magic from the monster that was destroying the wizarding world.  
>If there was a devil, she had well and truly sold her soul. This was all so wrong.<p>

The morning after she had killed, she had decided that she _wasn't_ going to do any of _this_ anymore. She shouldn't have done anything in the first place. When he gave her the choice to have a bath she should have said _NO.  
>Actually <em>when she first woke up in the cage she _should_ have spit in his eye and dared him to kill her.  
>She wasn't going to learn dark magic and she wasn't going to hurt anyone and she really.. definitely.. <em>wasn't<em> going to think about Lord Voldemort at all in any way anymore. He was an evil..murdering..monster...  
>She would be tainted forever for having touched him...<br>Her only comfort was that he had apparently not let anyone know about it. If Harry would come and kill him and save her then maybe.. just _maybe..._ she could lie. Obliviate herself.. pretend it never happened. She could go on with her life and just work hard to atone for the things she did to that poor man.

The day after it had happened, she was absolutely _certain_ that she would submit to the cruciatus, go without food and water or waste away in endless ignored tedium before she would _ever_ hurt anyone again like she'd hurt the poor man last night.  
>She didn't want this. If only he had left her alone. The cage was ...safe... Empty but <em>safe.<em>

He left her alone.

It was inexplicable. If he'd sensed her internal struggle, surely he should have been only too quick to punish her. .  
>But he hadn't. It was as if none of it had happened at all. As if she'd <em>imagined<em> it all.

He would sit on his throne.. hold meetings.. hear briefings.. torture.. kill.. all quite routine things.. but she never had the feeling that he was _paying attention_ to her.  
>It was as if she had ceased to exist again.<p>

And at first that was good. She was relieved.  
>She started to turn away when people were being cursed.. she would cover her ears and close her eyes when she knew someone was about to be killed.<br>She started to feel like she was behaving like a real human being again.  
>She slept. She ate and drank and she daydreamed about Harry one day coming and rescuing her.<br>Even Voldemort had said that _one day_ he _would_ come.

And the days went by.

He hadn't turned his head _once_ to look at her in the cage since he had placed her back inside it in that red dress.

But that was fine.. that was ideal. That was what she wanted.

Lucius Malfoy had enquired after Professor Snape. He had been informed that the traitor had been killed.  
>Hermione had curled up with her legs against her chest and allowed herself to really <em>feel<em> the awful guilt - Guilt she had deserved at the time but had suppressed because _he_ had demanded it of her.  
>Voldemort had then lured the elder Malfoy into a question to which any possible response could be construed as an insult, and had cursed him bloody.<p>

She wondered whether she was to blame and resolved to try to think about neutral things, even as she'd condemned the evil little hope that he had reacted in that way _because_ of her thoughts.

An ..._unknown_ multitude...of days had gone by before she had realised that she wanted to _speak._ She wanted to _talk_ to someone. Him. Anyone. She missed it.  
>It was peculiar. She'd gone for months without it and now.. after only.. what must have been merely a week or two, (perhaps three or...well, she couldn't really be sure).. she needed it more than she had in the beginning.<br>No one was ever in the room unless _he_ was in the room and it was impossible to have a conversation with anyone else _while_ he was in the room.

She hated the way her body woke her as soon as _he_ entered.  
>She would pretend to sleep, purely in order to prevent herself from sitting up and helplessly devoting her attention to him and whatever horrible things he happened to be doing today.<br>She didn't want him to show her attention again. She hadn't liked what he'd done to her at _all_.

There had been strawberries that morning.  
>All the days since..it..had happened there had been rather plain fare.. bread.. broth..stew, rice...A small portion of something nourishing but uninspiring, with a goblet of water at the side.<br>When she had woken on _this_ day there had been strawberries with vanilla cream waiting.  
>Her goblet had been full of sweet sparkling wine. She'd been so surprised when she'd sipped it that she almost spat it out.<p>

The dress she was wearing was soft, pale-green velvet.

...She had _shoes_..

The shoes had bothered her. If she was wearing shoes, it was possible that she might be expected to leave the cage.  
>She didn't want to leave the cage.<br>A traitorous little sigh inside disagreed.

She tried to tell herself that she wasn't waiting for him, but it was blatantly untrue. She was _impatiently..._waiting for the soft crack of his apparition..

All day (or was it night?) waiting.

No one came. The room remained empty.

After a long time – probably a few hours, a plate of sliced turkey and goose with roasted vegetables and a touch of sauce arrived.  
>She had never received more than one meal a day before.<br>She received, with the plate, _two_ goblets. One held freshly pressed elderflower cordial and the other mulled wine.  
>And then she was certain that it was Christmas.<p>

If it was Christmas then it had been almost a year.

She had cried for a while

He didn't come.  
>She had thought he <em>must<em>.. She had been given _shoes_ after all.. but no one came. The room remained dim and still and eventually she had fallen asleep.

The next time she woke it had been him apparating in.

He ignored her.  
>The hours went by.. business as usual for him.<p>

By the fourth (Fifth?) time she'd woken up after 'Christmas' she had reached the end of her wits.

She couldn't go back to how things had been before. It was so much _worse_ now.. If this was how it was going to be from now on.. well it just _couldn't_ be. She couldn't take this anymore.  
>She'd dreamed of him again last night..<br>He'd been holding her and whispering softly to her and then he'd given her a book. When she'd opened it, it had been blank. She'd looked up, confused, wanting to ask about it and found that she was in the ruined arms of the muggle she'd killed. He was an inferius! He'd clamped his arms around her and leaned forward with dead eyes and wide black gaping rotten-toothed mouth to bite her.  
>She'd screamed and panicked, struggling, and then he'd disintegrated into ash and Voldemort's arms had been around her again, soothing, calming her.<br>He'd kissed her forehead and told her that he would look after her. All she had to do was obey. It was very simple.  
>His arms had been warm and just as the dream was fading she'd realised that she wanted him to kiss her again.<p>

And after she'd woken up more in the vast dim room, in a dress that seemed to be made of artfully layered silvery lace, she realised that she wished she could have stayed in the dream.  
>It had been..better.. - to be held.. kissed... touched... spoken to..<br>It was horrible with the muggle..but... but this was horrible too. This silence. This empty room.. this cage.

She was sure his obliviousness was a kind of punishment.  
>She'd..refused him..denied him.. after he'd been so pleased with her and rewarded her.. after he'd willingly allowed her to learn whatever she had requested.<br>She had _asked_ to learn the dark arts!  
>And.. yes.. Ok.. he <em>was<em> a monster.  
>He <em>was <em>evil. And she was probably damned _if_ there was something like the muggle idea of hell.  
>But he was also clever.. and interesting.. <em>frightening <em>certainly.. but sometimes he touched her gently. He _always_ ensured she found pleasure in his bed.  
>and well... <em>he was the entire world<em>. Nothing else really existed here except him.

She was sitting at the side of the cage against the bars when he apparated in. He was all chilly gravitas and preoccupation.  
>But no one else had arrived yet. Perhaps.. if no one else was here..<br>She tried to think consciously at him, pleading for his attention.. for him to look at her.  
>To say he ignored her would be attributing more intent and attention than he demonstrated. He did not even seem aware of her as he lounged in the throne impatiently.<p>

"Please..." she whispered.  
>"Please.. I'm sorry."<p>

At _that, _his eyes had narrowed slightly but no further reaction had been apparent.

A minute later one of his ministry-planted apparatchiks had cracked into the room.  
>The day had been dull.. None of the news was particularly interesting.<br>Apparently a new head had been appointed to the auror division, who had expressed the intent to clean up corruption within the ranks, however not much was known about the man yet.

After that there was a financial briefing of sorts. Patrons and investors from within the United Kingdom and further abroad.  
>Voldemort looked bored and bordering on dangerously irritated. He hadn't cursed anyone yet today.<br>She couldn't think of anything he might find amusing. She tried to.. but she was too preoccupied with wishing that the people in the room would go away and leave her with him and that he would _notice her_ again.  
>They didn't, although the rather dull looking man, who she gathered was a wizarding accountant of sorts, looked at her curiously. She wasn't normally this close to the filigree ...or this uptight and desperate for attention.<br>Voldemort sent them away again as soon as the last man had presented his recommendations.  
>He had stood and was turning as if to apparate away when she cried out to him in panic.<p>

"WAIT!"  
>"PLEASE!.. PLEASE... DON'T GO!"<p>

"..._please.._. "

He still hesitated.  
>It wasn't enough.<p>

_"...Please_..._Master..."_

He still didn't turn but there was a soft click.  
>She pushed at the cage door that had unlocked and it swung open.<br>Her hesitation was only momentary but she heard him sniff angrily and the door started to close again. She whimpered and leapt out through the gap, skittering over to him hurriedly.

He was tall.. so tall. She'd almost forgotten how tall he was. He was even taller when she'd dropped down to her knees desperately hoping that _this_ was what he wanted.  
><em>Now <em>he turned. Red eyes pinned her in icy disdain.

"Get up."  
>His voice was cold, as if he were speaking to a failed death eater. Or worse. It was very nearly exactly the voice that he always reserved for Draco Malfoy.<br>She climbed to her feet quickly. "I'm sorry!" she whispered.

"Words.. These are empty words. Do you _comprehend_ the reason for my infuriation with you?"

She wanted to nod; wanted to say that she did – it was because he'd been ..good to her.. and she'd thrown it back at him.  
>His thin lips twisted into a slight sneer.<br>"Do not delude yourself into thinking that _I_ could be..personally offended.. by anything _you_ might say or do, little mudblood. It merely irritated me to have _wasted_ my own time on your self-professed desire to learn. I might better have spent the energy on other things."

She shook her head and looked down.  
>"Maybe I'm not really suited to the dark arts.." she mumbled. "I.. I don't remember why I even wanted to learn those spells."<p>

His eyes narrowed again and he looked away.  
>"You are...<em>pitiful. <em>A witch who _could_ be strong but _chooses_ to be weak..chooses to be a _child._ You performed admirably...and then you ruined all you had achieved when you determined you would wallow in self recrimination and guilt. You are _still_ indulging in that repulsive behaviour... I will not subject myself further to your insipid begging and excuses. Return to your cage"

Hermione's eyes widened in horror and she shook her head  
>"No! No! I'll be better! I'll change! Don't send me away! Please! I'll.. I'll learn whatever you want me to learn. I'll.."<br>She swallowed.  
>"I'll <em>try<em> to do what you ask . I'll try not to feel guilty. Please don't leave me alone in the cage anymore!"

Voldemort looked at her sceptically.  
>"More words. If you are determined, you will <em>show<em> me your resolve.  
>I wish to see how many curses you have retained since last using them."<p>

She couldn't help but flinch. Somehow she had known that that was what it would come down to. All the same it was still terrible to realise what he was going to demand of her if she wanted to leave the cage again.  
>She knew it was wrong to even <em>consider<em> it.. but she so _urgently_ wanted to leave the little box again.. to _exist_ again.

She'd sworn to herself she'd never ..hurt..someone again. She avoided that _other_ word.. the more..permanent.. thing she had done to the muggle

The Dark Lord's mouth twisted in a sneer of disgust. "As I said. Weak."  
>"Return to your cage little girl or I shall toss you in, myself. My time is too precious to waste on thisfoolishness.<em>"<em>

Merlin help her but even the way he was looking at her _now_ was better than being entirely ignored.  
>Any small part of his attention.. even negative attention.. was better that that thin bare-existence behind a silvery lattice.<p>

"I'll do it" she whispered.

He looked sceptical again even as his sneer faded slightly. "I advise you to be _certain._ If you oblige me to waste further time on your self-pity and melodramatic snivelling, I shall place your cage in an empty room and you will no longer be permitted even to _watch_.. You will spend the remainder of your time in constant light and unbroken silence."

The horror of that possibility shook her. For a moment she considered whether it might not be better to crawl back to the cage rather than risk that.  
>If she couldn't do it? If she couldn't hex someone.. or if she couldn't remember the hexes? Would he do it?<br>The hard ruby glint of his eyes and the disdainful expression assured her that he _would._ He would leave her to go mad in the quiet by herself..  
>She swallowed thickly.<br>She couldn't continue this way in the cage either though. She couldn't! Each day it felt like something of her drifted away more and more.  
>She'd been <em>alive<em> for a while. When he'd spoken with her.. when he'd allowed her to _feel_ things.. He'd offered her.._books.._. _her wand...  
>...his body<em>

"Whatever you want. Just..don't ignore me again" she mumbled.

He sniffed dubiously, glittering eyes studying her... Then his pale hand reached for her and gripped her upper arm tightly before he apparated them both away.

The sensation that she hadn't felt in a while and had never liked to begin with left her dizzy and reeling. He had let her go as soon as they arrived in the dark dingy room and she swayed on her feet, just managing to find her balance and right herself before she would have folded to the ground.  
>She looked up reluctantly, unsurprised at the bare stone walls and dim torchlight. Somewhere there would be muggles cowering..<p>

This time, however, it wasn't a random innocent muggle she found herself faced with. There was only _one_ occupant of the small cell.  
>She could only stand and gape at the terribly familiar face.<p>

Lavender was pressed into the corner of the cell shaking and sobbing.  
>She hadn't even <em>looked <em>at Hermione, standing in her silvery lace gown; she was so focussed on the gestalt at her side. Voldemort could loom frighteningly without even trying.

Hermione stared at the girl, she had never particularly liked, in this bizarrely unfamiliar context.

Lavender was wearing the remains of her school uniform. The blouse was greying and filthy. There were brown stains on the skirt which might have been blood, Hermione thought. Her hair was ragged and she was much thinner than she had been. Her clothing did not hang on her however, so Hermione presumed she must have arrived that way and wondered whether the stress of the war had upset her appetite or whether it was intentional. The girl had always been a little...curvy... in the past.  
>She'd thought some quite disparaging thoughts about her when she was draped all over Ron sucking his face during fifth year.<br>That thought almost made her smile. Oh yes... back when she had found Ron a bit cute...kind of attractive.

"Do not try my patience.." the Dark Lord muttered in the tone she recognised as one of extremely _temporary_ restraint.  
>"Begin at the beginning. Omit the Praevextra."<br>He reached into his robe and withdrew - wonder of wonders – her wand, offering it to her with a long even stare of warning.

She took it and stroked her fingertips over it and _that_ was when Lav Lav regained enough presence of mind to realise that there was someone else in the room besides Lord Voldemort.

"_Hermione?" _she squeaked, horrified.

Hermione stiffened a little, the reality of the situation flooding back in. Lavender had never been exactly the _brightest_...but she obviously had enough sentience to take in the fact that her old roommate was in the room, had been given a wand by Lord Voldemort himself and instructed to do something with it.

"Everyone thought you were captured! You've _joined you know who? _ How? You're a –"

Hermione realised that she didn't want to hear whether the word the girl chose to describe her started with mug or mud. She didn't want to allow Lavender to have a _conversation _with her at all.  
>If she was to be able to do this, then she would have to remove those things that most froze her and ignited her guilt. There was no other way.<br>_Fortunately_ there were curses among the selection Voldemort wanted demonstrated that would serve the purpose.  
>She extended her arm quickly and incanted "tăiate ochii." While the girl screamed hysterically and scraped at the glassy ichor trailing down her cheeks from her ruined eyesockets, Hermione had already steeled herself and incanted the second curse she needed. "retire lang"<p>

It was one thing to decide to use it and another thing entirely to face the result however. She hadn't gotten that far in the book with the muggle before he..er.. broke. The sound of the meaty organ slapping down onto the stones, coupled with the thick gurgling inarticulate screaming was too much. Hermione turned and emptied her stomach onto the floor behind her.  
>She had not eaten yet, so there was little to eject, but her mouth tasted of acid bile now. She used her wand to quickly vanish the small dribbles on the floor, worried that she was going to be called weak again.<p>

"Idiotic _and_ disobedient" the high, perversely harmonic voice snarled from further away than he had been standing before she bent to vomit.  
>She looked around to find Voldemort healing Lavender's wounded mouth and throat, although he seemed to be ignoring her empty eye sockets.<br>Her former roommate was still and quiescent, obviously restrained. She was still screaming. Now the sound was an ugly croaking screech. The uprooted tongue twitched on the ground but at least blood was no longer pouring from her mouth down her dirty blouse.

"I _instructed_ you to begin with the lesser flesh eating curse, I believe"  
>Voldemort sounded clipped and irritated as he abandoned the girl, freeing her from whatever was preventing her from struggling. She immediately turned and ran - straight into the wall unfortunately - bouncing off and falling over, then recovering and crawling away again till she found a corner to cower in.<p>

"I'm sorry.. I.. needed..." Hermione tried, faltering.  
>"I thought if I.."<br>She sighed inwardly. She had made an error. Two errors. She had selected a curse that wouldn't achieve what she wanted to achieve – She would have had to use the curse eventually and thought that to use it now she might escape the accusations and slurs that were sure to spill from her former roommate's mouth the moment she began to curse her. But Lavender was still making disturbing noises even if she couldn't talk anymore. It wasn't much better. On top of that error, she had not done exactly what she was told. He had said 'start from the beginning.'  
>She scraped together what she needed to say.<br>"I'm sorry...my Lord. I shouldn't have used those curses – especially the last one. Thank you for fixing my mistake. I will listen from now on."

To her astonishment, the pale alien face softened slightly and then Lord Voldemort _sighed._  
>"Proceed...<em>without<em> silencing the witch.. and I shall disregard it."

She let out the breath that she had been holding and turned back to the bloodsoaked, wailing girl in the corner.

"Manje vyann" she incanted softly, aiming the spell at Lavender's bare foot.  
>She didn't want to cause too much damage too early - especially not after the slip with the tongue tearing curse.<br>Black speckles appeared faintly, growing rapidly until the side of Lavender's foot was covered in dark bruise-like marks. Then the skin at the centre of each bruise radius seemed to pucker and begin to be eaten away.

"Good" came the soft praise as the Dark Lord paced softly to stand behind her right shoulder. She raised her wand and halted the spread of the flesh eating curse.

"The next." He sounded slightly closer and as she lifted her wand to cast the next curse - a rather benign one from ancient Japan which simulated the sensation of insects crawling all over the body - she felt one of her porcelain doll ringlets captured, lightly tugged and released.

"Sen mukade no kyōki" she pronounced.

Lavender jerked away from the wall and started to brush her hands all over herself in a panic. Her croaking cries, which had been subsiding slightly, returned to the same panicked bursts as she slapped at her body with increasing desperation.  
>Voldemort was silent behind her so she assumed it was acceptable and that she was supposed to continue. The second Japanese curse in the collection tripped off her tongue easily.<br>"Sotto iki"  
>She was relieved when Lavender's cries were snuffed as surely as if she'd been muffled with a pillow. The curse wouldn't allow her to fill her lungs fully. It didn't prevent one from speaking softly, but panic and yelling was impossible without suffocating.<p>

"Good.." The voice from behind her praised softly. "Perhaps _this_ curse might have been one other option, if you insisted upon disobeying.  
>...Proceed.. Do not pause so between curses – I do have other plans this evening which I am <em>delaying<em> for you..."

Lavender was only sobbing exhaustedly by the time she reached the pliatha-crorix hex that had been so damaging on the muggle. She paused uncertainly.  
>"You may skip to the next" Voldemort's voice murmured, close behind her. He sounded ..<em>pleased<em>..with her. She couldn't help but feel relieved.  
>She was starting to feel very tired though. Some of these spells were quite difficult - the next one for instance required energy to maintain. But she'd gotten a lot further than this when she was casting on the muggle. She raised her wand and tried to collect herself.<p>

"Stop."

The voice came from close behind her right ear. Voldemort had leaned forward. She could _sense_ how close he was...feel his warmth in the cold room.

"You must be aware of your own capabilities. Do you imagine I wish to nurse you if you deplete yourself to the point of collapse?"

She hesitated.  
>No.. she really didn't. Why was the <em>thought<em> of him nursing her back to health so inexplicably appealing? He'd probably just dump her in the cage.  
>But last time.. when she'd been cruciated...<br>No.. it'd be the cage. He wouldn't do that this time.  
>And really... he'd just offered her a chance to stop cursing Lavender. She could <em>choose<em> to stop and she had a legitimate reason for doing so.  
>Why was that thought occurring to her last of all, after considerations of her health and possible chance of being touched and coddled by him? Ugh.. she was a terrible person!<p>

She lowered her wand.

Warm fingers ghosted down her arm and removed it from her hand. She wanted to resist but..if she did then she'd probably only persuade him not to let her have it again.

"I know that you _could_ have managed more, Hermione... But I am pleased with your performance even so."  
>Behind her, he stepped that final half step until his robed form was touching her back. She realised that the lace seemed to <em>magnify<em> the feeling of the warm silk brushing against her.  
>His hand that had taken her wand, and obviously secreted it away somewhere, returned to her and glided very slowly down the front of her body, barely touching her.<br>She sighed and leaned back against him ever so slightly

"Ah... I take it you _have_ missed me then.." he said in a soft murmur. "Yes!" she answered immediately, keeping her eyes on the stone and away from the whimpering pile of Lavender Brown in the corner.  
>"yes... I'm sorry.. please-.."<br>She didn't need to finish the plea because his hand pressed more firmly against her, pulling her harder against him and then stroked slowly back up her body. It paused briefly to caress her breast, teasing her nipple to a protesting point beneath the lace dress that was suddenly horribly, irritatingly, itchy and constrictive, then the warm palm continued upward till he gripped her throat snugly, stroking the skin with his thumb gently.  
>It was <em>insane<em>.. to enjoy this.. the feeling of Lord Voldemort's hand ever so gently threatening her. Her eyes slipped closed and she leaned against him, giving up entirely.

"You disappointed me last time, Hermione..." he said quietly, his strange silky purr above and behind her right ear. "If I reward you again.. what is to say that you will not make such an abominable fuss again tomorrow.."

She wanted to tell him that she didn't want to be alone anymore. She wanted to say that she'd _try _not to feel guilty.. or regret – that she'd made a _choice_ this time..  
>She wanted... She wanted...a number of things that she couldn't possibly say out loud, chief among them being for him to kiss her again.<br>Shaking her head was impossible. The mere thought of moving caused his hand to tighten slightly.  
>"please" she managed breathlessly. "I won't.. I..."<p>

His hot tongue slithered up the outer shell of her ear slowly.

She felt all the pertinent muscles from her neck to her knees clench in reaction and she _knew_ she was already wet. At what point had she _started_ to get wet, she wondered. When he'd stepped close behind her? When he'd touched her for the apparition? When he'd spoken to her?  
>When she'd first <em>seen<em> him today?

"Do you think you _deserve_ to be rewarded, my .._disobedient_.. little acolyte?" he murmured against her ear and she whimpered in sudden painful need.

What was the right answer?

"No... But...I _want_ to be.." she whispered "Please!"

She felt his smile.

"Perhaps after you are finished here." he offered in a pseudo-generous tone.  
>She frowned slightly. She had thought she <em>was<em> finished here. He'd let her stop. He'd told her she'd performed well. _performed. _ Past tense. Did he want her to continue now?

"The girl has recognised you, Hermione. Do you expect _me_ to clean up your leavings?"

Her frown deepened. Lavender had no tongue.. no fingers.. she had no eyes.. and therefore no one could use legi..  
>But the Dark Lord could hear <em>her<em> thoughts all the way from the cage. And... she had sometimes wondered whether Professor Dumbledore couldn't do the same.  
>...But they were really <em>powerful <em>wizards – it was almost certain that _most_ wizards who might come in here to torture Lavender wouldn't be able to do that.  
>On the other hand... maybe... just <em>maybe<em> aurors or mediwitches of some kind might have a method for legilimentic extraction without eye contact... She couldn't be sure.  
>Voldemort would never consider those a threat though.. - Although he seemed sure that Harry would come, he was also quite certain that he himself would prevail.<br>All of this, she realised, was semantics.  
>He had implied what he wanted. She would either do it, or she wouldn't.<p>

"How?" she asked in a tiny toneless voice.  
>The hand around her throat released her and slapped her across the cheek, in a manner <em>he<em> probably considered a friendly tap. She gasped and flinched in shock as her cheek stung

"Now, now.. you are doing it _again, _my dear. I'll have none of that miserable fatalism. Your self-pity repulses me!  
>In answer to your <em>legitimate<em> question – I will, against my better judgement, _allow_ you to use whatever spell your own engorged conscience considers most tolerable.  
>Put her out of her misery, if you must... if a humane end will assist you not to harp on ad nauseum after the fact."<p>

He stepped away quickly and she was left with a cold feeling where he had been. The thin lace skin that made her so sensitive to his touch, made her just as sensitive to the chilly dungeon air.  
>Her wand was offered to her impatiently.<br>"Do not dither. I am already late for a gathering at which I am to be the guest of honour. You are obliging me to insult my hosts and their guests."

Hermione took the wand and tried to think. The _whatever_ that Lord Voldemort was supposed to attend was distracting her from the more important thoughts of what she should use on Lavender and why.

Her mind was compiling a list of spells that _would_..um.. put her down. That is.. uh.. extinguish her life.  
>Some of them involved bleeding – she abandoned those. They would be messy and frightening.<p>

She thought almost immediately of the praevextra which had killed the muggle.  
>For some reason she had the feeling that the wizard standing impatiently behind her somewhere would be disappointed if she chose that one.<br>Although.. it had seemed quite painless. He'd just collapsed and then he was dead.

...Of course.. there was _another_ spell that was supposed to be quite painless, wasn't there?  
>Everyone knew it.. or at least knew <em>of<em> it.

He'd like it if she could use that one..

But then... it was also very hard to use, she knew. It required focus.. and _power_.. and will.. and most people who were of the kind of disposition to want to use it lacked one or all of the above.

Technically, she even knew how it was cast - after the false Moody had given such an _awful_ class presentation on the unforgiveables and had clearly _demonstrated_ the wandforms to all the impressionable little minds sitting there in dumbfounded horror, the spell had been digested and filed almost without thinking.  
>She had never tried it though..<br>Well _obviously _she wouldn't have _used _it! She wasn't going to go and kill something just to see if she could – even though Rita Skeeter had been a very tempting target for a while as she buzzed irritatingly in her little jar.

She didn't know if she could cast it at all.  
>But.. it <em>was<em> a humane end, they said, even if the fear of it within the wizarding world kind of belied that fact. It would be a peaceful death for Lavender. And ..if she was going to have to kill her one way or another...  
>She cut that thought off right there. He'd warned her against fatalism and self pity. She could hear impatient shifting behind her. Any second now he would lose patience.<br>Taking a deep breath, she raised her wand and aimed resolutely at the miserable little whimpering form in the corner.

"_Avada Kedavra"_


End file.
